For Ever and Ever
by EmelineCarter92
Summary: An Alternate time line that follows Matthews injury he received in the war. He tries to call off his engagement to Mary but Mary is too stubborn to leave his side. Their future in question and the fate of Downton hanging in the balance, will obstacles and forces push Mary and Matthew apart or make them stronger than ever?
1. For the Light We Cannot See

Chapter One: For the Light We Cannot See

He could think of only one or two things that was wrong with him. His spine was damaged and he could never walk again or his spine was bruised and he'd recover in a few months or a year or two. That was wishful thinking. He tried to prepare himself for the worst. He tried bottling it up, not let it show who scared he was. Mary was the strong one, not him. She could not let her know that. Seeing her beautiful face, so strong and stoic.

He wished he could be braver.

He wanted to know.

"Tell me."

"You haven't been here nearly twenty-four hours. Nothing would have settled yet."

Nodding to her own words, she wanted to believe them. That everything was going to be alright. A part of him wanted to believe her words.

My Dear Mary what a terrible liar you are. He thought cheekily.

Nothing would be alright again. He wanted her to tell it to him straight.

His father had been a doctor and his mother a nurse. His mother and father had wanted him to become a doctor, his mother most of all, surprisingly. He chose to become a lawyer instead, rebelling against his parents but eventually he had come to enjoy it, even loved it. Then his livelihood had been upheaved by being named the heir. He had vowed that they would not change him. He had changed once he met Mary, for the better. Her dreams were now his. Mary. That impossible woman was an enigma. There was no chance for them now.

"Please, tell me."

"Doctor Clarkson says there might be some damage to your spine."

"Did he say how long it will take to recover?" He wanted to sound hopeful, but there was doubt in his voice, at the same time longing, that he would wake up from this nightmare. But he had to be ready to face the reality. But he was not.

"We can't expect to put timing on this sort of thing. The first thing is to focus on is regaining your health."

His eyes wondered to the ceiling; the worst of his thoughts confirmed. A part of him refused to believe it, that this couldn't be his life now, that this was all some dream. "I see."

"He says there's no reason you won't be able to live a full and normal life."

"Just not a very mobile one." He said, bitterly.

"We'll wait for your mother. Then we can start to make plans."

"Thanks for telling me. I know I'm blubbing, but I'd much rather know."

"Oh, darling, blub all you like. I don't know about you, but I could very much use some tea." She walked away, glad he couldn't see her face, and let the tears flow.

Seeing him so damaged had almost broken her heart, and there was nothing she could do for him. They had almost lost him. She was not sure she could live if anything happened to him, if she wasn't able to tell him how she felt. Carson had told her that she should, but she had chickened out. And then there was her mother. She hated that they were both right, especially that her mother was right about her needing to tell Matthew about Pamuk. She needed to be honest with him if she were to marry him. Even if it may kill her. He had to recover first. She wouldn't dream of telling him in this fragile state. If he truly loved her, he would not leave. Her mother had said.

Well, he certainly couldn't leave now. Mary inwardly cringed at the thought.

She couldn't tell him that she loved him, even that day he departed for war. She had learned from her father that she should not say it. Carson had once explained to her that it was something a man had troubled saying, but not her Matthew. He wasn't ashamed to say it. She wasn't either but she had trouble saying it.

She hated that she couldn't do anything for him, other than wash him, when they had brought him in. She didn't do the forbidden places. It still seemed a helpless effort, unable to do more or reach him as she watched his muscles ripple under her touch. He would need all the help with everything now, even this simple task. And her heart broke all over again.

No, she could not tell Matthew that she loved him. But she could show him.

She was by his bedside again the next day. Still no word from Isobel. Matthew told Mary to go, that he wasn't up for much company. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Why wouldn't I?" In response he gave her a grim look. "I'm not leaving."

"Your father. There must be a future heir."

"Sod my father's future heir and the estate. "

"You don't really mean that Mary. He's worked so hard for you."

"None of that matters. None of it matters without you, it all means nothing to me. Only you matter."

"Mary I'm not...I'm not a man."

"Just because you can't walk because you fought honorably for your country?"

"Honor? There is no honor in fighting, killing each other, young boys dying bloody, calling for their mothers, that will never come, never comfort them. There is no honor in this." He motioned to his legs. In truth William had tried to save him. And for what? He would try to tell them that William was the real hero, but they wouldn't hear it. They would rather call him one, weather he deserved it or not. "I suppose if you were a man you would have joined up without the slightest hesitation."

"Yes. I would." She held her head up, smartly with confidence.

"I have to let you go. I couldn't be responsible for stealing away your life. Consider yourself lucky that you won't be strapped with a cripple. I can't be with any woman on any terms."

He was trying to push her away. They were both equally stubborn that way. They were in a way a perfect match. She needed to remind him of that. He needed her more than ever now. She didn't go through all this just to lose him again.

"What if I wanted to be with you on any terms?" She asked rhetorically.

He even didn't want to be with himself. Would he feel ashamed of himself, hate himself for the rest of his life? He didn't want to be dependent on Mary, preventing her from living her life. It wouldn't be fair for him to do so. He would be depriving her from her dreams, a real proper life. A life for him, he would never have one. A full normal life. That was a joke. His dreams were almost stolen from him once, only to be stolen from him by this God-awful war, by God or some cruel twist of fate.

Surprisingly, he still believed in God. He had survived from some reason. There had to be some purpose. It couldn't be a life without Mary. But what choice did he have? It had to be this way, instead of resenting each other later.

Oh, but to let her go, it was killing him on the inside. His real dream, his true dream, he had longed for all his life was to marry and have a house full of children. All of that was gone, in a puff of smoke, in an instant it took for a bomb to drop.

He wouldn't do that to Mary, to any woman. No woman would want to be with him like this.

"No one sane would want to be with me as I am now. Not even me." At the thought he started to feel dizzy, bile rising to his throat. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She helped turn him over, grabbing the sick bucket and placing it under him just in time, rubbing his back as he wretched.

His upper body shook while his lower half remained unmoving. He was shocked and bewildered at that. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to it. He felt Mary's touch on the upper part of his back. How she had assisted him in turning over, would he be able to do such a task on his own once he regained his strength? Would he be able to move without help at all or would he be damned to a bed for the rest of his life, covered in sick and mess? He couldn't stomach the thought, leaning his head further over the bowl. Mary had to keep her other hand on him to keep him steady. As another wave of nausea came over him, his head started to pound with the beginnings of the headache. He could still feel the sick threatening to come up.

The last time he had emptied the contents of his stomach was when he had found a piece of...someone in his uniform, he couldn't recall who (he had been covered in the man's blood, what remained of him for days) when he was finally allowed to change. It caused him to wretch again.

When he was finished and she got him back over to his back, he started to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" She asked as she wiped his face.

"It seems a short time ago that you nearly escaped my first proposal. Now look at me." When he had finally accepted her, willing himself to fall in love with her all over again, only for it to be cruelly snatched away, "What a reversal. You have to admit it's quite funny."

She didn't find his dark humor amusing and wouldn't indulge it. "All I'll admit is that you're here and you've alive."

Alive. He barley felt it. There was no way this was living. That he could live like this.

His attention was drawn elsewhere, only for a moment, to Lord Grantham, talking with Dr. Clarkson out in the hall. It was obvious what they were talking about.

"We can't be married."

"Of course, we can."

"I mean properly. I wouldn't..." He choked on his words, trying to hold back the tears. He closed his eyes tightly as he swallowed. "Sorry." Would he always apologise for the useless and emotional mess he was? "This is hard." This was hard, what he was about to do. Dr. Clarkson had discussed with him the conditions of his injury. Not only his sexual function was nonexistent, he wouldn't be able to relieve himself. He felt embarrassed and disgusted with himself, absolute livid. Every bit of his manhood had been stripped away. He could never be a lover, a proper husband. That was when he finally decided. He couldn't condemn her to this. "We can never be married. Not in the proper terms."

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. "I see."

"I can never give you children." His voice almost broke. How he had always longed for them, to give her children. She would want children. So many things he would not be able to give her. He turned his head away so she wouldn't see his tears. In the distance he saw Lord Grantham's face fall into despair. It was as if he was dead already. "Go. Think of me as I was." He swallowed a second time to bite back the emotion. The only way to get her to give up was to be harsh with her. He put all the anger built up inside him behind his words. "Think of me as dead."

She came over to the side of the bed where he was faced away from her. He's so hell bent on pushing me away. Nothing else has settled yet, he's not used to things. He doesn't know how much he needs me. Well, I'll show him that I'm not going anywhere. She reached out her hand to soothe the back of his head. He recoiled from her touch, forcefully smacking her hand away.

When she still didn't leave, he shouted at her, "Go."

Mary fled. It had startled her. She had never seen him so angry. So much anger. Toward himself? Towards everything? This war taking away everything, his hopes and dreams, their hopes and dreams up in a puff of smoke. But she wasn't as willing to give up nor would she give up on him. For now, she would give him time.

She held her stinging hand as she walked away, as the tears stung her eyes. The second time she had left him in tears.

Isobel arrived later that evening. She had gotten on the first boat home as soon as she could. It had been a grueling two days. Anything could have happened. No. Matthew will pull through. She smiled upon seeing him, though it was more of a grimace, trying to hide her frayed nerves. He had deep bruising around his eyes, and cuts on his face, that would leave small scars. He looks pale, almost deathly, even though he was in the clear. At least to their standards. He could be at risk for depression. He needed to be checked on regularly. And his health could still be at risk from infections, that were common in paralyzed people, but it wasn't as high a risk as if the injury had occurred higher in the thoracic. She went into 'nurse mode' just as Matthew would go into 'lawyer mode' when something was troubling him, they were both alike in that way other than their shared stubbornness, even Reggie had been the same. But he would have had the sense to tell his son, to not feel sorry for himself or he wouldn't get any better. He often told that to his patience, using it in a sterner way with his family. Focus on what you do have. She doesn't have the strength to use her husbands words, at least right now.

She wanted to tell him the next course of action, that it'd be alright, but she can't find the words. She knows not what to say to someone that is paralyzed. This was not just someone, this was her son, her independent boy, he had been since he was a small child. He preferred to do things on his own. He would have to rely on the care of others for the rest of his life. She knew this will be harder on him than anyone else.

He looked like a young boy, wearing his father's clothes, looking up at her, trying to be strong.

She smiled down at him from where he lied. He had to get used to people smiling down at him, not knowing what to say to him. This is his mother, not just anyone else. She loved him in her own way. She would know what to say. It had been the two of them for a long time. They had been away from each other the longest, both on the other side of the world, until she volunteered for the Red Cross in France. She must have been afraid, that he would end up in the field hospital where she worked, stationed near to where he was, though she never saw him. That was the real reason why she had volunteered, just to be near him. She must have dropped everything, her patients, to come home to him.

There was so much he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. All he wanted now was his mother. He was glad that she was here.

"Mother!" He attempted a greeting, but it came out more of a plea. His voice was wavered, trying to hold it all in. He just couldn't. He broke.

She sees that he is utterly broken, both in body as he is in spirit, which was more apparent. His nostrils were flaring, holding it in. She already knows the pain that is there, that he is feeling, not just the psychical kind, what he must be, thinking, that he's worthless, that his life was over. He would need reassuring. But for now, she could say nothing other than to comfort him.

"My boy, my darling, darling boy." She embraced him, pulling him to her, as he was too weak to sit up on his own yet, and he put his arms around her. She listened to the sound of his crying, like a helpless child, nearly ripping her heart out of her chest. This is all she can do for him right now. Nothing else needs to be said.

The loss of the movement in his legs seemed to pale in comparison to the loss of his ability to father children. It was especially cruel. He had always wanted to be a father. He would have been a great father. Now all that had been ripped away from him. It is hard to explain to someone, even to a grown man. She had been thankful that Mary already had, that she had been taking such good care of him. She had become quite the nurse, but of course Mary had been modest about it, that it had been her sister. It had been partially that. She wasn't sure if Matthew would have had the will to live if he didn't have her.

Later she would learn that Matthew had tried to 'free her' from their engagement but Mary stubbornly refused to let him go. He would need that. She had been there for her son when she wasn't. There would be many days like that when they were married. A part of her felt that it wasn't right, that a young woman should settle for this life. She would have stuck by it if war hadn't taught her that tomorrow wasn't always promised. You had to live like it was your last. It wouldn't be the last for Matthew for a very long time. Though she couldn't pretend that she didn't know what that would feel like to him, that death being better hadn't crossed his mind. Did she believe he was capable of hurting himself or taking his life? Of course not. He would think it but he would never act on it. He had people who loved and cared about him. A lot of wounded soldiers come home with no families, no one to care for them, loved ones who left, unable to come to terms with how they were now changed. Matthew would never change, too much. He was still her son. And he needed her now more than ever. He needed all the love and support he could get. There would be dark days ahead. She just didn't know how dark.

Mary saw her embrace him from across the room. She wanted to great them. But instinct told her to let them be. They needed this.

Isobel held her son as he sobbed in her arms like he had when he was a child, when he had scrapped his knee. But this was no scrape, that she could put a bandage on.

He felt strong with Mary by his side. Now she was gone. He felt like a child again. He let himself cry like one.

After their short reunion, his mother insisted that he rest. Nurses checked on him constantly, asking him questions, their tones became a bit worried. He was a bit catatonic, not answering. They would often check his breathing and his pulse.

Miss Hughes woke to a sound of banding of pots and pans. She fetched her house coat, thinking it must be rats or worse a burglar. She went into the hall planning to fetch Mr. Carson. He already saw he was up, holding a cricket bat in his hand.

"Mr. Carson!"

He turned suddenly, nearly jumping. "Oh, Miss Hughes, you nearly scared me half to death."

"Then what were you doing sneaking around?" She asked Carson.

"I thought there might be a burglar in the house."

They turned on the kitchen light. She was startled to see Daisy in the kitchen while Carson looked relieved and also not pleased but was far too tired to be angry.

"Daisy what are you doing up at this ungodly hour, making all this racket?"

Miss Patmore suddenly appeared beside them. "She's trying to sabotage me, moving the utensils around. Look at the pots and pans all over."

"No. Honestly, I wasn't."

"Then what are you doing, girl. Explain yourself." Carson demanded.

"I wanted to go see Mr. Crawley." She said it with conviction and bravery. She could find other ways to be brave.

"Whatever for?" Asked Miss Hughes.

"To thank him for William." Daisy nervously toyed with her hands, wiping them on her apron. So much for bravery, she thought, but she could still try, for Mr. Crawley. "I know William might not make it but it's the least I could do. I think he would want me to."

"Alright make it quick..." She turned to see that the cook was making her way up the stairs as well. "You too Miss Patmore?"

"I thought it might help but my mind at easy. With no word of my Nephew. It's a fortunate sight to see that Mr. Crawley has returned in one peace and won't be going back. It's a reassuring thought."

Miss Hughes rolled her eyes as she headed up the stairs. She stopped and turned, noticing all the rest of the servants had woken up. "Anyone else want to join the band wagon?" No one replied. "Good. Mr. Crawley needs his sleep not a parade."

"You heard the Madame. Back to bed all of you." Carson ordered.

On the way up the stairs, they ran into lady Sybil.

"Pardon, My Lady, but Miss Daisy and Miss Patmore, you see are the closest to young Mr. Mason. They wanted to thank Mr. Matthew..."

"I thank you for your generosity, but he really ought not be disturbed."

"It won't take long. Just for a minute. I wanted to thank him." Daisy began, anxiously. "For keeping an eye out for him over there. I know that he said he couldn't promise anything when he became his batman but he did look out for him. So in a way they saved each other."

Sybil took a deep breath. "You ought to make it quick. I think it wouldn't hurt. It might actually help him."

Night fell but he was not aware. When he became aware of his surroundings, he found that it was dark. Had he had his eyes open this whole time and possibly had not fallen asleep?

God, he dreaded what he'd see if he slept. He was beginning to become afraid of being awake. The disembodied voices from earlier, he wasn't sure had been real. He lay there for what must have been several more hours.

The voices came again. He pretended not to hear them.

"He's not there." A voice he could not recall who it belonged to.

"Happens to the best of them." Miss Hughes?

"He is so handsome too." Was that Daisy's voice?

"Daisy." The cook. He recognized it now. Even the cook was here. He wanted them to go away.

"I don't know if you can hear me Mr. Crawley. I wanted to thank you for William. It's means the world to me. It's the effort that counts...that's all I wanted to say."

Sybil turned her attention to Matthew who still didn't seem to be aware of anything. But he was, just not of her. He heard their retreating footsteps. Glad they were gone. He didn't need their sympathy or for them to feel sorry. William was the one that saved him.

As they left, Sybil folded his coat that was at the end of the bed and put it on the chair. A small object rolled out of the pocket, under the bed. She looked around. Seeing no one she got her knees and reached her hand underneath the box spring. Her hand touched something soft. She hard to get a good grip on it, it was so small. Withdrawing her hand, she looked down at the dark squishy mass. She recognized it immediately.

Reginald.

Ripped at the seams, damaged. Just like his soul.

She stopped smiling, glancing at him. His expression still unchanged. She had truly not seen the brutality of what the effect of war could have on a man.

He wasn't just a man. He was Cousin Matthew, her future brother in-law. She had always thought of him as a brother. Well that hadn't always been true. There had been a moment, but that moment had passed, as all moments do.

Dusting it off, what much good did that would do, she placed it in his pillow.

He would pull through. He had to. If he were anything like Mary, which she believed, otherwise they wouldn't have made such a good match.

She said a quiet prayer for him, unsure if it was heard. Just as she goes off to bed, Robert (watching her go up, sticking to the shadows,) makes his way to Matthew's bed.

He talks to him, while he's 'asleep.' Talking to him will help. Though he does it when no one is present, late at night. He doesn't know if the words get across. He tells him how proud of him he is. He's part of the family. Robert had always liked him from the moment they had met. He tells Matthew as such. And he knows that how much he loves his daughter. Whatever he decides, weather he still wants to marry her or not, he'll accept it.

"Love our little girl – you were created to love her in a way that only you can. Cling to that love with all your might. Bind it to your heart. Us Crawley's have a saying you know, loyalty binds me. Fitting that you became a lawyer. Middle class no less. That doesn't matter now like it shouldn't have before. You're a true Crawley, through and through. I know you'll pull through this for that very reason. This isn't the end for you, even though you may feel like it is. As long as you have Mary, have us. We know you would give up your life for her, whatever you decide, please don't leave us."

He doubted that any of his words had been heard. Still, for whatever reason, he believed that he was going to pull through. With Mary egging on, he expected further improvement. Matthew would do right by his daughter, despite how many times he rebuffs her help.

Loyalty, and a stubborn nature to recon with.

He went on up to bed.

Matthew pressed his back down against the mattress, wanting to just sink into it. He felt a lump in his pillow. He reached his arm behind him and pulled something out. It was the little stuffed dog. He didn't feel so lucky as he held it. He turned his head toward the bedside table.

The light on his bedside table had gone dim. He stared at the flame, watching it dance. He would never take Mary dancing. He had wanted to. His thoughts were diverted by the small flame as it flickered off a shiny surface. He tried to figure out what it was. It took a few seconds to make out the dagger like shape.

Someone had left a letter opener. He thought about it only for one fleeting second.

He couldn't do that to Mary. He didn't want her to find him, wrist slit open, blood everywhere. It was the coward's way out. He wouldn't go to Heaven for the selfish act. He'd rather suffer a bit on this earth.

He turned his attention to the dog. He wondered how it had come to be there. Then he vaguely recalled someone adjusting his pillow. A dark haired someone. It hadn't been Mary. That much he knew.

* * *

**Authors note: I hope you all enjoyed and that I will have a next chapter soon. This is an alternate story line, where he never met Lavinia. He is engaged to Mary instead. Matthew comes back from the war, injured. Realistically, Matthew would have never regained his ability to walk, at least not without difficulty. I wanted to go into detail the effects this has and being traumatized by the war, and the obstacles he and Mary will have to face and overcome. Will they get their happily ever after?**


	2. Always Darkest Before the Dawn Part 1

Chapter Two: Always Darkest Before the Dawn: Part Two

Description: Matthew drops a bombshell that could change the future of Downton

* * *

Mary had never been afraid of anything in her life or felt so helpless. "He won't respond." She expressed her concern to Dr. Clarkson. "He won't eat. He won't anything. He just lies there."

"It could be from a lack of proper nourishment." Isobel cut across. Don't be anything other than that.

"Mrs. Crawley, you are his mother, I appreciate your opinion but I'm afraid you are being biased on that front."

"Is there anything we can do at all?" Mary asked him.

"Just keep on talking to him, that he is needed. And when he is awake, I'd like anyone of you to encourage him to eat. He is a bit dehydrated. We can set up an Intravenous drip so he can receive fluids. But we do have to look at what could be the underlining cause here."

"And what could that be?" Mary asked.

"Shell shock."

She couldn't stand there and hear anymore, politely excusing herself. As Mary walked away, she could still here the doctor,

"I hope that it isn't that. That this is all just short term."

* * *

She was sitting on her bed with several tissues clenched in her hand, when heard the door open. Quickly she dabbed away her tears before bravely having to face who had entered.

"Oh, Anna, it's only you." She was more relieved than surprised.

The only person she could share her feelings with was Anna. If there was anyone she aspired to be, it was her. A house maid, no less. But Anna was much more than that. She had considered Anna a close friend. Her only friend.

"Sorry mi'lady, I should have knocked. I hope I haven't intruded."

"No, not at all. Come in."

"Do you mind me asking what's wrong, mi'lady? It's Mr. Matthew, is it?" Of course, how stupid of her to ask. He was all she talked about and lived and breathed, the many months he'd been away to war. Now he was back, different from when he left. It would be a shock to anyone, and anyone braver still would refuse to leave his side. It was a shock to Mr. Matthew as well, which accounted for his unresponsive state. Anna was no medical expert but she believed he would come back as long as Lady Mary stayed by his side.

" He said he won't see me again. He felt he had to set me free as he says it. I've tried to tell him I don't care, but he won't listen."

"Then you must keep telling him."

"I can't. He can't even hear me. What's the point?"

"He can hear you, milady." _You must have faith. _But left it out. Faith was still a rather touchy subject to some.

"There's no one else I can talk to about this. He said I'd hate him in the end. How could I? I tried to tell him. I don't think I fought for him enough. That's why he's given up. I suppose you're shocked to find me like this."

"I'm not shocked. I know how much you love Mr. Matthew. We all do."

"Me with my cold heart?"

"We both know how untrue that it."

"He's embarrassed he can't give Downton an heir. You see, Anna? It's all much more than just that."

"You must do what you can for him. He'll know."

Edith decided to see him for the first time in days since he arrived now that he could receive more visitors now. She was hesitant, unsure how to approach him. He's still Matthew.

She stepped out into the hall, briefly to gather her bearings.

She had been told of the nature of his injury and the statistics, the outcome of paralysis and the issues had been addressed, incontinence, impotency, risks of infections.

She went back into the room, starting to approach the cubical where he lay, only to discover that he was asleep. That's when she overheard two officers talking.

"He won't live long."

"It's the catheter that gets them in the end."

She rushed back out into the hall and burst into tears. She suddenly felt herself grow angry. She never seen anyone cry over him, especially Mary. Who was his fiancé and should be? Perhaps she did so in private. Yet somehow, she couldn't imagine Mary doing that.

He wouldn't live long. Not long enough to get married. He would never have any children. She wouldn't wish that on anyone not even Mary.

No. He will make it. How would they know? They didn't know Matthew.

"Edith?" Her younger sister made her way over to her.

"I was just about to see Matthew."

"Let's go see him together." She rested a hand on her shoulder, and they walked back into the room.

He had his eyes open now.

"It's Sybil and Edith come to see you Cousin Matthew." Sybil said in her natural sweet and gentle voice. But he did not respond.

"Do they know what's wrong? Why he's..." She nodded to her cousin's inert form.

"A self-induced catatonic state." Sybil described it. "the best we can do is wait till he comes out of it on his own."

"What if he doesn't?" Edith had asked.

"He will. His mind just needs to work out and come to terms with his injury. Matthew will bounce back soon enough. But you cannot mention it to him. He most probably won't remember it and what was happening during it or what was said. Please don't ask him about it or he might go back..." Sybil had seemed to suck in her breath as Mary went by. She had the supplies to start washing him, including several magazines. Sybil went to assist as Edith hung back a bit.

Mary had taken to washing him, (not the places that were forbidden, but his hair, face, and chest, the rest would be left to the nurses) and reading to him. She would read things she would think he'd find funny, excerpts from Kipling. She would also take trays of food to him. He had started to feed himself and would listen to her read while he ate, staring blankly or when he was lying down.

After she finished reading and the tray was taken away, she'd help him lie back. Then she'd prepare a basin of water to bathe him. It was the same routine.

"I don't know how much it's helping. If he'll ever wake up." That's how she could only refer to it as.

"Routine is a good thing." Sybil told her. "He's doing more than he was before." She reassured. "If he hears your voice, he'll know he's wanted. He'll start coming back more and more. We just have to wait and see."

"Thanks, Sybil. I can take it from here."

The sisters watched on as she carried on with her daily routine.

"Do you think it appropriate?" Edith was a bit shocked, nodding toward them. Such a thing wouldn't be before the war even if she is his fiancé. "If we weren't in a war we'd be scandalized. I can just picture Papa if he found out."

"War changes things. I'm sure Papa would understand. It's just the thing he needs right now." Sybil couldn't hide the smile on her face as she walked away. She went on to her other patients.

As the days had passed, he seemed to come round more and more. Edith could only watch on as Mary had tended to him. She doesn't deserve him. But she was what he needed right now. The nurses would usually tend to him before visitors arrived. Edith did not want to imagine what that entailed. They would draw back the curtain and then help him turn over. It had to be done, to avoid pressure sores that took long to heal and could get infected and easily kill someone like Matthew. Someone like Matthew, felt cruel to say or even think about. They're taking the best of care of him. He had to see that. He had people here, people who loved him. He was very fortunate to have that and security, while others would be discarded. As they turned him over, his eyes had caught hers. She caught the shame and humiliation, or had she imagined it? She had to look away. Then when they were done, she'd go over to him. He'd go back to that blank state. It was only when Mary came now, that he would come awake again. She wondered how much he did remember. It didn't seem to be much.

She had overheard Mary talking to him about it asking if he remembered, what happened with William. He'd 'go away.' as Mary observed. Then he'd ask her to turn to the next page like a skip in a record. Very worrisome. But he was back, wasn't he? He was spending less time away. That was a good sign but he still seemed so far away. Mary didn't know how to reach him.

"I've forgotten some things." He said.

"I'm sure you'll remember it soon." His face had gone pale, started to shine with sweat "Are you going to be sick again?" She looked worriedly over her magazine.

"No. Just fine."

"They should be cutting back on the morphine soon. You won't feel as nauseated."

Was that why he had thrown up? When he had told her 'no one sane would want to be with me as I am now. Not even me." He knows he had lost days. There are things he doesn't remember about the war. He wished she'd stop asking.

"You were out of it the last few days. It was like you were somewhere else."

"Just sorting through things." It felt like he wasn't even here. It was a strange feeling. At that moment he felt his mind being pulled away. That he was almost detached from his body. It must be the morphine.

Mary lifted her gaze away from him, catching sight of something. He didn't bother to follow the direction.

She caught sight of Edith lingering not far away. It seemed she was always hanging around. Mary was getting quite agitated about it. Why couldn't she and Matthew be left in peace? She thought about drawing back the curtain but that would gain more attention. He didn't need any more prying eyes. It wouldn't do for his recovery. He was coming round more but not all there yet, she could tell. It was her doing. No one else had been able to pull him back, not even his own mother. It had been heartbreaking to watch as Isobel spoke to him. His eyes open, not even responding as Isobel had touched his arm or smoothed back his hair. With her, when she washed him, his muscles would ripple under the cloth, at the slightest touch of her fingertips. That had to mean something. That he was still there underneath. He's just trying to process all this. He'll come around. And he was. Just much slower than she had hoped. She supposed it took time. The cloud like haze he was still slightly under most likely had to do with the morphine. They would be cutting back on that soon, as she had told him. Then they would start the exercises and build up his arm strength and start to practice sitting up on his own. Transferring to bed to chair and vice versa would come later. When they would first get him into the wheelchair, she couldn't say 'his', she was sure he wouldn't want an audience. Like now. She patted his arm, leaving him, she went over to Edith.

"Shouldn't you be doing something? Or do you like playing nurse? If we need anything, we'll ask Sybil. That's her job."

Edith just stared straight ahead, as her sister walked past her. Her attention went back to Matthew. He's still not aware of much of anything. He would have noticed the animosity toward her and would have called Mary on it. He was locked away somewhere in his mind. She would have to. All those strangers touching her. When people would go to touch him below his waist or legs, he wouldn't feel it, yet would know that they were. She wouldn't want to be aware. And it wasn't just the fact of the stranger's hands, it was people having to do things you should be capable of doing yourself. Simple tasks. His were limited especially know. She wondered how much of that would change.

When he woke it was the beginning of a new dawn. The light crept through the windows. It must be in the early hours of the morning. He did not know how many days had passed. There were hardly any nurses out on the floor. He overheard Sybil and Edith talking about a Peter Gordon, mentioning the name Patrick.

"Edith." He called to her as Sybil left. Edith went over to him.

"Cousin Matthew. It's rather marvelous to see you awake. Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Who was that man you were talking about with Sybil?"

"Mr. Gordon. He was a friend of Patrick's. He thought that he was...or was an impostor trying to profit. Which Mary seems to think so."

"Do you?"

"What does it matter? He's gone now." She felt utterly humiliated and distraught, but she wouldn't let it get the best of her. Matthew was awake! The catatonic state she had seen him in had been frightening, she never seen anything like it. It was such a relief. She wanted to ask how he was. Had he even remembered it? Then she remembered Sybil's advice that she shouldn't. She wished she would have told that to Mary. Or did she know and not care?

She felt terribly sorry. This shouldn't have happened to him. He had never said an unkind word to anyone, who went out of his way for others, just like Sybil. She couldn't imagine if something happened to her. Sybil, who was a wise old soul, born before her time. Her role as a nurse suited her well. She looked after her patients, especially Matthew. She tried to not to let it appear that she was showing favoritism. She knew what was best for Matthew, advising them what and what not to do. One being, they shouldn't talk to him about his injury.

What could she talk about or ask? Could she even ask how he felt? She wouldn't want anyone to if she was in his shoes.

His voice cut across her thoughts. "That couldn't have been Patrick."

"How do you know?"

"Please don't tell Mary. Don't use this to spite her. You wouldn't, will you?"

"Of course not."

He held back, preparing himself to say it. "I knew Patrick." The words off his lips a betrayal. If Mary were to know of such a betrayal, she would have no choice but to turn him away. Could he actually do that? How could he think so such thing? It would mean betraying Patrick as well. Patrick. Mary had to know what happened to him. It was better than thinking he was at the bottom of the Atlantic. Nobody will probably be found in this circumstance either but at least she'd have closure. He was doing this for his friend, not Mary. Or the family.

"How could you have known him?" Edith was more appalled than angry and hurt. She had been in love with Patrick. Mary would have told Matthew that. Mary hadn't deserved him either. Edith didn't love Matthew in that way but he deserved better. This new part of information overwhelmed her. She had so many questions.

"He visited me, at my law office for some legal business. Got a laugh out of our names being the same. Teased me dreadfully about having to compete for the title."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Why had he kept this from them? He had to have had a good reason. A dreaded seed was planted, what else hadn't he told them? But she couldn't stay mad at him. She was eager to know more. And he wouldn't be willing to if she was angry at him.

"When I discovered that there was truth in it, long before your father sent that letter, I tried to avoid it. I wasn't too thrilled about it when I came here at first."

"I recall." Her voice was nostalgic now, filled with worry. What would Papa think if this information were to get out? Surely it wasn't a big deal that he knew Patrick briefly. And Mary she hadn't really cared for Patrick.

This information proved evident that it was difficult for Matthew to divulge it, even to her.

His body seemed to tense.

Sybil came back into the room, noticing he was uncomfortable. "Are you in any pain, Cousin Matthew?"

"It's nothing really." He deserved this. He wanted to feel this. He could feel nothing else.

"It obviously isn't nothing." Edith said.

"It's just sometimes I get this tightness...pain in my back." A new wave of sharp pain went up his upper back and down his legs. His legs. He was sure he thought...

"I'll go and get Dr. Clarkson."

"No." He dreaded the hands poking and prodding him, as much as he wanted to ask the doctor about it.

"I can't give you any morphine without the doctor's permission."

"Surely, you can administer it." Edith looked at her sister, hopeful.

"No. I don't want to go...I don't want to go back."

Edith who wore a confused expression looked to Sybil who was frowning but regained her composure. It could mean nothing. Sybil told herself. He's delirious with pain.

"Here, this will help you, Cousin Matthew. You're in a lot of pain. Is it in your upper back? I'm going to give you this, then you will be calm. When you wake up I'll have doctor Clarkson look at it."

He relented, giving a sigh. He closed his eyes, feeling the pinch, the cool liquid rushing into his arm. Then the thick darkness of sleep came, drifting over him like a blanket.

Major Clarkson was there to examine him the minute he woke, it seemed. He didn't remember falling asleep. They must have given him more morphine. He could feel it's effects wearing off as he rubbed his eyes, as if trying to get rid of the residue of it. He did remember talking about Patrick, then being in pain, had felt it in his legs. He dreaded to ask about it, fearing that all his hopes would be dashed, as long there was a possibility of a chance...But he had to know.

"Captain Crawley, how are you feeling?"

"As good as I can. Considering."

"Nurse Crawley tells me you've been experiencing pain and discomfort in your upper back."

"My mother?"

The doctor frowned. "No. Not your mother. Lady Sybil." He scribbled something down on his clipboard.

"Major Clarkson..." He started but didn't know where to begin.

"Yes?"

"If I..." He chose his words carefully, not wanting to sound like a fool or too hopeful. "What if I was experiencing pain in my legs as well?"

"Have you?"

"Yes."

"Was it stationary or radiating."

"Radiating."

"I'm sorry. That's just not possible. Every sign points to a complete transection, which means the signals to the spine are cut off from the input to your legs."

Matthew was starting to lose his patients. Why ask the difference then? Instead he sunk back into the pillows, lacing his fingers together. "Yes, you've explained that to me but..."

"Now, the pain in your back above the injury sight is not out of the ordinary. Nothing to be too concerned about. However, what you felt or think you felt in your legs, those are called phantom pains. An illusion."

Matthew felt his eyes sting as he continued to listen. He nodded along, pressing his thumb to the palm of his bandaged left hand. He had seen the wound when they had changed the dressing, pink, puckered flesh, still raw, that had been crudely stitched together and would most definitely leave a long, ugly scar. He didn't recall how he had gotten it. Like you forgot how you had gotten a bruise. But this was no bruise. One would remember receiving an injury such as this, unlike the second blast that had rendered him unconscious and had altered the course of his life. He'd rather be back on the battlefield. He was about to get his wish, in a way.

The walls of Downton started to recede from his vision, replace by the walls of the trenches.

Dirt raining down on him. Debris pinning him, cutting his hand on a long nail in the plywood that had come loose from the trench wall. An explosion. He shuts the image out, along with everything else and just listens.

"Soldiers who've had limbs amputated experience something similar. It's just a memory of feeling. I'm afraid it might increase over time, but it can be managed with exercise."

Matthew groaned but it was more due to his sore back. Above the injury sight. Below was still quiet, nothing stirred. The pain that he was sure he had felt in his legs was gone. Maybe he was right, that he had imagined it.

"You will still have to do them, or your muscles will atrophy, even the unusable ones. I'm going to give you one last round of morphine. For now, you need your rest. After that, we'll try getting you out of that bed and into a chair. The sooner we can it will mean all the difference for you."

He didn't see how.

Sybil squeezed his right arm. "Things will get better." She said softly as Clarkson went on his way. "You might not think it now, but it will. You'll be able to do a bit more once you get your strength back. You'll be amazed at the new ways you'll have to do things. And we'll get you into your chair soon. That's the first start."

He had his eyes closed. Not wanting to give into the tears. Her words were a bit of a comfort to him. But his heart was breaking for the life he had had. The man he had been. When he opened his eyes, he stared straight ahead.

"Can you get Mary for me?" He put his left arm down by his side, his hand curling into a fist.

"Of course." She started to tuck in the blanket around him.

"Don't...keep it loose."

A slight pause. But without a word, she adjusted the sheets. Leaning over she noticed the blood starting to seep through his bandaged hand. "What did you do to your hand?"

He bent his arm toward him, puzzled at the sight. "Must have pressed too hard."

She clicked her tongue. "Best not be making a habit of it or else it won't heal properly." She picked at the loose end of bandage and gave a sigh. "It's going to need redressing."

What would be the point if nothing else will? He didn't have the energy to ask it. He was growing tired and it was getting harder to think. He wanted Mary here.

"Then will you go get her?"

"Yes." After she was done, she gladly went to fetch her for him.

"Mary, Matthew is awake." Sybil informed her eldest sister as she approached her. "I was just coming to look for you. He wants to see you. Though he's just been given another round of morphine and is starting to get a bit groggy." But Mary was already making her way to his bedside. She wanted any excuse to see him.

"I want to us to go for a walk." He told her. "...once I feel better. I need to get out."

Her face did not break at the mention of the word, walk. Did he forget? Surely not. What other word could one use? "That would be nice." She simply said, taking his hand. The thought of taking a stroll with him out in the warm sun, was a pleasant to think about. He would feel somewhat free. Getting him in his chair was the first thing, they had said. It had been a month now and he had a bit of his arm strength back. They were thinking about moving him to the sick room, which in reality was just the sitting room they had set up, equipped with a bed. He could continue to recover in peace, what ever that would look like. She had to continue to think positive, for him. And so far it was working. He was having conversations at length now. It seemed she could never get his mother away from him. But she understood. She'd been in France. Away from him. He'd been away. Now he's back. This was a start. Being outside on the grounds and the fresh air will do him good.

"Sybil's been taking such good care of me." He said drowsily.

"So have I. Who do you think's been the one washing you?" He was almost too out of it to care. He had been unconscious most of those times to matter. "Better me than her. I wouldn't want her to start having a crush on you again."

"She only has eyes for Tom."

"If you say so." She shakes her head, teasingly. When he looks back down at him, she sees he has fallen asleep.

The next afternoon Mary took him out for some fresh air. He tried to refuse, even when she said he had suggested it. He didn't remember.

"Of course, you don't remember. You were still a bit out of it."

Her words should comfort him but he's still worried. He grips the arms of the wheelchair tightly, as if to ground him. To ensure that this was real, that he was really here, with Mary. Another part of him wanted to wake up and this not be real. How could this be real? How could he never walk again?

"Still with us?"

He was looking forward, his brow turned down into a scowl. As he caught her words his face softened, only a fraction.

"Quite. Just came to an epiphany. About my predicament. But I think this is all rather too soon. As you should have seen the show earlier trying to get me into this thing." He wanted to bang the arm rests of this infernal contraption, his eternal prison. He laced his fingers together to stem off the temptation.

"You needed to get out. As you've told me. Besides, you're starting to look like Bram Stokers Dracula." That had shut him up. As she wheeled his out into the garden, his face turned into a scowl didn't help that the sun was constantly in his eyes. But that's not it. He's still struggling to accept it.

As she continued to push him along the path, she was relieved to see that they were not alone.

There were a few soldiers walking around with nurses, some with crutches, re-learning how to walk. They said "hello" and "Captain" to him as they passed but he did not acknowledge them. He was ashamed, knowing he would never have that luxury.

"I should have arms as strong as Jack Johnson if I'm not careful." Mary was beginning to feel her arm muscles tighten and they had only made it halfway across the lawn.

"I can do it myself; you know."

"I'll be the judge of that."

He went silent for a moment. "I keep thinking of William. How he should be here. Not exactly instead of me but his sacrifice should be rewarded. He was the brave one." He didn't believe his words as he said them, even though he did mean them. How odd.

"You were both brave. And I don't think we should say should about things that happen in war." Should have is a dangerous phrase that can ruin your peace of mind if you let it. "It just happens."

"Can we stop? I'd like to see your face when we talk." He was becoming to hate not being able to see who was pushing him. It had also been a habit of his, talking straight into someone's face. It was a signal of strength in character. You could read a great deal about someone's character. And he'd rather much see her face.

She stopped at the bench, parked his chair beside it and sat down. "I still want to marry you, you know."

"You deserve to be with someone that can give you what I can't. Whoever it will be I'm sure he'd be a very lucky man? If you were engaged to somebody else, if I had thought to argument about your marriage, I should jump into the nearest river."

"And how would you manage that?"

"Well, I'd get you to push me in." She slightly chuckled at that and he smiled but he looks down at the ground. He turned his head to her, his expression serious. "I can feel somewhat relaxed knowing that you will have a chance of finding true happiness, since letting you go. But that fact that you're here with me now, I'm putting that in jeopardy. If I had the choice I'd go away and never see you again."

"You don't mean that."

"But I do. I am the cat that walks by himself and all places are alike to me. I have nothing to give and nothing to share." She wonders if he remembers her reading to him or this was just a memory from his childhood. He had told her he didn't remember much, or about William and what happened in the war. She didn't know if he was telling the whole truth. He smiles, a flicker of her old, sweet, Matthew, soon replaced by a sharp bitterness. " We have no future, Mary. I want to know if you are convinced of that. And if you were wise enough, you'd stay well enough away from me."

She turned her head away, looking forward. They sat in silence.

"I can never be a proper man, not to you, not to anyone."

"We'll see about that." She stood up, grabbing onto the handles of his chair.

It was Edith's turn to check on him, thank goodness. Though he did enjoy Sybil's company. This was something he couldn't tell her. He didn't want to explain it all again. In truth he knew this would hurt Mary if he entrusted Edith with this.

"Can you do something for me? I want you to get something for me." He whispered to her where it was and where to retrieve it.

If Mary still wasn't determined to leave him, this surely would. He had been filled with anger lately, that wasn't like him. To hurt people. But he must. There was no other way to get her to see. There wouldn't be a life with him. There would only be more hurt if she stayed with him, in that way. He would never have a woman in that way. It was easier to hate himself.

Moments later Edith returned.

"Do you have it?" He felt anxious and at the same time numb. This was so wrong. But it had to be done. Edith nodded. "Hold onto it, till I'm ready. Go to Lord Grantham and prepare him but don't give it to him or say anything about it."

"What do I say?"

"Tell him that it's urgent. And that I'll explain." The Earl would hate him for it. Good. He would go back to Crawley House with mother and until he was well enough, back to Manchester. Farewell to the lot. Stop it. They aren't to blame. They aren't to blame for this hell that I'm in. Someone was. Myself. Mother tried to convince me that it wasn't my fault, that this wasn't a punishment. She's wrong. She doesn't know. None of them know.

After dinner, the family was called into the drawing room. Lord Grantham demanded that it was urgent. Matthew and Edith were already there.

"I'm afraid I have received some rather pressing news." Robert said.

"What are we talking about here? Black mail, extortion?" The Dowager leaned forward on her cane, finding more excitement in the situation than worry.

"It appears that there's a letter that has surfaced. That proves that Patrick Gordon is not Patrick Crawley."

"I knew it. I knew that he was an impostor." Mary said.

"Who's it from?" Sybil asked.

Matthew gave the letter to Robert. "It's never been opened. It was from him."

"From whom?" Robert was curious.

"Patrick." Matthew answered.

Robert leaned back on the balls of his feet, eyes wide in disbelief. He almost lost his breath but did not dare let go of his composure. His eyes then started to darken.

"From Patrick?" The Dowager asked. "How can that be?"

"How did you get it?" Robert demanded at Matthew, trying not to lose his patience. The thought of him being deceived, by this man whom he had come to trust, had taken him in as one of his own, accepted his as family, could have kept this from them.

"He left it for me to give to Mary." He almost said it flatly, without expression.

Mary straightened up at this. This was new. She had never heard him talk like this. Was it guilt? Guilt that he had kept this from her? So many things went through her mind.

"When?" Mary asked.

"I received it three days after he died."

"After he went down on the Titanic?" Mary could feel herself fuming. Why would he keep this from her? How else could he have gotten his letter?

Matthew shook his head, intertwining his fingers, looking down at his legs. It was strange to think how desperately he wished they worked, now more than ever. This was proving harder than he had thought. He couldn't turn himself completely off, turn off his conscience, or become bitter. That's not who he was. He wanted to hate himself. Hate them. But he couldn't. They had become his family.

"When else could it have been written? How could have Patrick given to you?" Mary continued to ask. Her questions were tearing into him.

"Matthew, can you tell us how you came in possession of Patrick's letter?" Cora was trying to be the calm, civil one of the bunch, or so it seemed from Matthew's point of view.

She feels nothing but pity toward me. Matthew thought. He hated the way she looked at him the most. He couldn't look at the rest of their faces or bring himself to speak any further.

"Matthew knew Patrick." Edith came in to try to save the day, to ease the bombardment of questions, though he could tell she was nervous. "He came to Matthew for legal business."

She's trying too hard. Matthew tried again, gaining his bearings. He didn't want to break down, thinking of Patrick. Patrick, he had forgotten what had happened to him till recently. Didn't that mean he would soon remember what had happened before the shell blast? He couldn't think of that now. He could almost hear the sound. It was making him anxious. He had to finish this. He'd tell as much as he can, starting with explaining himself. I don't owe them anything. The angry bitter thoughts, he tries to crush down. He could start with this. It hurt so much, talking about his friend. He wasn't using him to get back at the family, for they did nothing to get back at for (and he wouldn't even if they had. He's not that person, he tells himself.) they had the right to know. This will hurt them too. They might be angry, but they'll understand once things are cooled. They have to know.

"He met me by chance, months before your father sent me that letter, for me to come. This letter was from him." He had stored it away when he was last on leave, before he'd been sent back, before he was injured. "It's dated, 1917."

"How can that be? He died when the Titanic sank." Mary protested.

"I thought he died on the Titanic like everyone else." Matthew said with honesty. Though he doubted some of them in the room would believe him now. "Until I saw him on the battle field. When we were under fire...that's when he wrote it."

"Did he think he wouldn't make it?" Sybil asked. She had no hostility towards her cousin. He had probably forgotten. War makes you forget things, things that are not so important in the moment. There was a reason he had kept the fact that he knew Patrick a secret.

"Every day was dangerous. Now and then men would write wills, letters to the people they loved. I wrote several peoples wills." Most of whom were dying.

"You never told me that. In fact, you never told me anything and I can't believe you colluded behind my back, with my sister, no less, who would rather see me to ruin." Mary was becoming angry. She was angrier that he had told Edith, had confided in her, over her. She was the one he was supposed to trust.

"Mary, no one colluded in anything." Cora said." I'm sure Matthew had good intentions and Edith was only trying to help." She feared the tension wouldn't be good for Matthew's fragile state at the moment. The more she could soften the blow, the better.

"You better have a good reason why you've kept this from us." Robert tried to hide his anger. Some of it managed to spill over.

"There is a war on. He was injured, and not in a right state to remember." Sybil stated lightly, equally trying to be the peacekeeper along with her mother.

"Is that what this is?" Robert asked, continuing the conversation. He wouldn't fight with his daughter. Not when it was fragile already, with her engagement to the chauffeur. They needed to get to the bottom of this.

"I don't know it's contents. He never told me exactly."

"Then you wouldn't mind me hanging on to this."

"It was instructed to be given to Mary."

"Yes, but I must confirm if it is his handwriting. I might need to send it to Murray."

"It is his handwriting. I was there when he wrote it. When he was dying."

"I'm so sorry, Matthew. I didn't mean...was he in any pain." Mary asked. Her words were like a knife to his heart, not for sympathy of her lost, but that he had kept this from her, from all of them. He had forgotten about it. Had blocked it out of his head somehow.

Patrick's face flashed through his mind, the pain in his eyes, the blood on his face. Patrick would want him to lie to her.

"Can you be sure?" Robert asked.

"Sorry?"

"That he died?"

"I wasn't with him when he took his last breath."

"Then you can't be certain?"

Matthew thought for a moment. "No, I can't." He said it with disappointment, and convincing uncertainty. The letter wouldn't have been delivered to him if he hadn't been.

Robert couldn't picture that his other heir could still be alive and Matthew had deliberately concealed it. No, surely Matthew couldn't have planned to sabotage them, to take the title future of Earl for his own. He had shown no interest. At the moment Lord Grantham could do nothing. He had to wait while the facts unraveled.

Robert cleared his throat. "We all know what this means."

"It means he displaces me as the future Earl of Grantham."

"I'm still sending this to Murray for analysis. If we don't hear from Patrick or if he doesn't stand up to take the title..."

"Surely we can call the war office." Edith started.

"Everyone is calling the war office for their missing loved ones." Robert told her.

"This is ridiculous." Mary interjected. "Can't we all accept that Patrick's dead? I know it. There hasn't been word that he is alive. Why can't we go on and accept it? It's not fair. And after all that Matthew's been through."

"My dear, don't be quick to decide. You'll never know. This could be a blessing in disguise." He couldn't take it anymore, releasing his anger. He didn't even recognise his own voice and found that he didn't care. They got what they wanted. Robert and Cora would be free of him.

"What do you mean?" Isobel asked, blinking at her son. How could he think this was a blessing, being confined to a wheelchair? She was perturbed by his brash tone, the bitterness. That wasn't her son, who had never said a harsh word to anyone. He was slipping away from her, into a man that she did not recognise. She had seen it when she had worked as a nurse in the Anglo-Boer war. She had never imagined it happening to her own son. She had been under the illusion that he would make it back in one piece, that nothing could harm him. Even though she had shown clear worry when war had been declared.

"It all worked out for you didn't it? If he's alive, he could walk about the estate on his own two legs and continue a string of sons to continue the line." Mary stared at him in shock and horror. Robert was stone faced, his jaw set, while everyone else looked on in sympathy. "All in all, I'd say it's an improvement on the current situation."

Isobel leaned forward about to say something when Mary did,

"Why do you do this? This isn't fair." Mary repeated.

"You're absolutely right Mary. Nothing has been fair not for a long time, has it? All those poor chaps I fought with being shot down beside me, All the poor sods being dragged out into the street and shot, whole families sitting at their dinner tables being blown to bits." Now Robert looked sympathetic and guilty. "None of them deserved to die. No, it isn't fair. And yet here we are talking about the future of heirs as if it didn't happen. And somehow in the end you managed to make it all about you." His last sentence he directed at Mary. "Sybil can I prevail on you to take me back to my room?"

"Of course."

He asked Sybil to stop for a moment. "It must have slipped my mind, when I was out of sorts. I couldn't tell one day from the next. I meant to inform you, Robert. Truthfully."

"I will have to take your word on it."

Everyone filled out until Mary was the only one left in the room.

She looked down at the letter as if it were a bomb about to destroy what was left of her inside.


	3. Always Darkest Before the Dawn Part 2

Chapter Three: Always Darkest Before the Dawn: Part Two

Description: Mary and Matthew struggle with where they stand. The Spanish flu invades Downton, it's outcome shaking it to its core.

* * *

Matthew went back to staying with his mother at Crawley House. He couldn't face them until he regained the courage and could face them with false dignity. Then a twist of fate, another chance represented itself. His former law partner had called him, offering him a job.

Isobel came in, seeing her son in a cheerful moon, smiling as he spoke on the telephone. It had been long and coming. She couldn't recall when the last time it was, when he had truly smiled.

"Who was that?" She had to smile herself. Perhaps he had patched things up with Mary.

"Johnathan Buckley."

"From your old law office?"

"It was his father's old law office. His father's just passed recently. He wants me to have his old office."

"And you're going to take it?" Isobel stood, sternly, taking off her gloves.

He nodded. He was too excited to notice the hint of disapproval.

"Ought you to spend some time to think about this?" Didn't he think this was too soon to be jumping back into the swing of things? Though she was happy to see him this way. She had her son back, for however briefly. It was a nice change from his bitter out look on his life but she knew at any moment that things could turn.

"I don't think there's a reason..."

"What about Mary?" Mary was like a lifeline to him, though he had pushed her away. She could tell how it was hurting him inside. She didn't understand it, how he could be drawn to woman who seemed cold and distant. She herself had been, though she had shown some display of affection to her son over the years, and him in return. Their own relationship was strained. But this war had changed Mary. She admired the young woman, how she took sole charge of Matthew, and her devotion to take care of him. It appeared now that Matthew had put an end to it. He was still in love with her. Isobel wasn't blind to that. She thought leaving now would only hinder his recovery. She was angry that he was throwing one good thing that could help him, that he withheld, though unintentional, the information of the previous heir, Patrick, and had used it to thrust a further wedge between him and Mary. Mary was the only chance of truly getting her son back.

"What about Mary?" He parroted back to her.

"You're not going to abandon her." It meant to come out as a question.

"I'm not abandoning her. She's not mine to abandon." Self consciously, he straightened his tie. "Don't you see, this is the way out." He didn't usually give up that easily on anything. It would be better this way. "It'll be better for the both of us. It'd be easier. The longer we stay within the same vicinity of each other will lead to more hurt, reminding each other of broken promises we can't mend. I can't give her any children, Mother."

"If you love each other, surely that should surpass all that."

"We both know what Lord Grantham would think about that. You know what's funny?" He gave a smirk."I've always wanted a wife and children. But I was too focused on my schooling, then my law career. I kept putting it off, telling myself that it would happen someday, when I was ready. Now it will never happen."

"Your father and I struggled to have children. When we finally did, we lost them. Long before you were born." She had never spoken about this to him, to anyone. "We both gave up, but not on each other."

Matthew had no idea. He covered his face with his hand, rubbing it. He did this whenever he felt upset, distressed, sympathetic, even when he felt guilty about something, or when he'd done something to disappoint someone.

His mother continued. "We found a new way to live. We focused on what we both loved, taking care of people, the hospital, saving as many people as we could. Then we had you. An unexpected blessing." Your brother, Teddy would be ten years older than you. The others that came after, she had miscarried or lived a few years before they had become sick. Teddy, died at six months after he had gotten sick. She had named him after her brother, Edward, who had eventually died in the Boers. Losing his grandson and his son had killed her father. He had simply lost the will to live. A daughter, she had named Emily Elizabeth, had been stillborn, in 1878. She had been about thirty in 1885, when she had Matthew. With her history of difficulty of having children, doctors, even her own medical knowledge told her it would be a risk, that unlikely that the fetus would survive and would be stillborn. She would be put at risk and she could likely die, one doctor had told them.

"God will decide if the child lives or dies." Reginald was adamant. "He'll decide it they both shall live." fighting for her and her unborn child. She had felt it was more to do with his strong belief.

The day he was born, Reggie had that joy on his face, the wonder, as if he was a young first time father. Isobel had loved him for it, although she had also envied him. She had spent weeks, months, away from the baby. She wouldn't even pick him up, just looked at him in his cot, as if the act of holding him would break him and he was the most fragile thing in the world. When he survived well past Teddy's age, almost a year old, Isobel picked him up, holding him to her. She quickly put him back in. She couldn't get too close.

Matthew's belief was almost as strong as his father's. But what about now, after what he has seen. She had seen men out on the battlefield lose their faith. Her husband never did. He kept true to it till the day he died, in 1906 of stomach cancer.

Matthew had been away at law school, the majority of his father's illness and decline. He had not seen how it had eaten away at him. Isobel's faith had been shaken, there is no God, only the cruelty of nature and the healing of science, the science that was not available for Reggie. While Matthew stood strong in his faith, she had been envious. He had not seen his suffering, been with him through the worst of it. Would that have changed if he had witnessed his father withering away? She had hoped that he would let go of the childish belief. It hurt her to see him happy, while her husband of forty-five years was not yet cold in the ground, the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with. He had only been sixty-three, Matthew only twenty-one, he had his whole life ahead of him. But when the haze of grief passed, she saw how much it helped him and that was what was important. If it gave him comfort to believe he'd see his father again.

It was still hard to believe it had been eleven years.

Until recently, her faith had been restored. Her son was home, he was safe, her prayers had been answered, (she'd much have him like this than back there fighting. Immediately she felt sore about it. He could just as easily die here. Pneumonia or an infection. But she must not think solely on that.) she believed in God again. It had come at a cost, but he was home. She admired his faith, she truly did, but he was using it as an excuse, or that's what it felt like to her. She tried to remain respectful but the annoyance showed in her voice, her patience wearing thin, "I believe there is a difference to what we are called to do by instinct and the need to fall back on something we are familiar with to feel secure than what we are called to do so by God."

"Please, don't mock me, mother."

There was faith and then there was blind faith. He wasn't thinking clearly on this. He was smarter than this. "Blind faith is not enough. Courage is worth more, common sense even more so. I know you still love Mary. You'd be a fool to give that up. But sometimes love is not enough either. You need to fight for her and be a man. Hold fast to what's most precious to you and not cling to some uncertainty. Or has the war taught you nothing? It won't always be there."

"I will stay. And I will think about. Though I very much doubt I'll change my mind."

That night he had a nightmare. The first time his mother witnessed one of them. Isobel had been lying awake, unable to sleep. Her eyes were finally starting to drift close when she heard his shouting. She was brought back to the days of his childhood when he'd have the occasional nightmare. But this fear was no irrational fear of a child. This fear was real. When he dreamed, he dreamed of war. Does he dream of it every time he closed his eyes? Isobel asked herself.

"No. Please. No. Please. Please." His upper body arched, and he was clawing at the blankets that were tangled, wrapped tightly around his waist. Like he was trapped. They had said that before he'd been injured, he'd been buried underneath a pile of debris for hours before William had found him. That was when they were hit by another blast.

As she approached him quietly, he suddenly stopped, his body going rigid. He turned his head toward her, putting his arm down by his side as if reaching for something. By the flicker of the candlelight, see caught his eyes, filled with stark fear and glossiness. He was still trapped. As a mother, all she could do was comfort him, bring him back, from where ever he still thought he was, assure him that she wasn't who he thought she was, as he shouted for her to get away from him. He wasn't fully there with her. All she could do was wait.

_He was back in the trenches. Had that meant that the months back at Downton had been a wishful dream? As the scene played out before him, he couldn't help but get the feeling that he'd already been here before. That this has already happened. Had he imagined that all too? A vision of what was to come? That meant he had a chance to save William, save all his men. But he couldn't do that from under the plywood and debris that was pinning him. The more he struggled, he felt constricted, like the debris was wrapping itself around him, like a snake._

_He had to remain calm, reserve his strength. His men needed him. If he was injured he couldn't feel it. That meant he most likely wasn't, though his legs refused to move. He kept his mind from thinking the worst. There's nothing wrong with his legs. He's pinned. He can't move anything at all, he could barely move his arms. He could feel the weight bearing down on him. He might injure himself for sure if he tried to move it on his own. All he could do was wait for someone to find him. But he couldn't lie here silently, while his men were dying above him. No one would find him. He started calling for help again but no one could hear him. They can't hear him over the explosions and gunfire, men screaming, so much screaming. Then he realises that it's his own. Pleading for help. Everything seems too still and quiet._

_He hears footsteps approaching. The debris above him starts to shift. He should have stayed silent. He had revealed his position. A German had found him. Of course, it had to be. Everything had fallen silent. Too silent. He was the only one left, he thought. He finds himself pleading, this time for his life._

_"No. Please. No. Please. Please." It couldn't end like this. He didn't want to die. He very much wanted to live. Mary's face flickered in his mind. He wanted to get back to her and the life that should be promised to them. Nothing was promised. The board was lifted off him and he was met with cold air, mixed with smoke and decay. He saw a shadowy figure hovering over him. The bright light of the sun obscuring his vision. He closed his eyes, trying to summon her back again. He wanted her face to be the last thing that he saw, not the face of his killer._

_"It's just me, sir." That voice, he couldn't place for a moment but it was English. Willing his eyes to open, he was staring into the face of his batman. Relief and joy flooded over him, his heart heavy with praise. Perhaps they wouldn't die today. But there still was a chance. He had to focus on what was going around them. He had to ensure their survival._

_"Can you stand?"_

_"Yes, I don't think I'm injured."_

_He catches a worried look in the young lad's eyes. "Sir, it's Edwards, he's in a bad way."_

_They were hit by heavy shelling again, after William pulled him out of the rubble, after Edwards is dead. The sound of the shells had seemed to cease as they stayed with him in his final moments. Or had they kept dropping them? It was as if time had stood still through the whole ordeal. It tended to be that way under these circumstances. You'd be under heavy gun or shell fire and it would all sound muffled, except for the blood pounding in your ears. Then it all sped up again. They had to move forward. "We have to find the other's. I'm not losing anymore men."_

_William nods, taking the lead. "I'll cover you, sir."_

_They make their way out of the trench._

_Then next thing he knows William is shouting a word that could be, SHELL, and he's lifted off his feet backwards or is he pushed, into the trench, his back slamming against the same board that he was buried under, minutes before. Then everything went back._

When he opened his eyes, it was dark and he couldn't see. He didn't know where he was. But he could tell he was lying on the ground but what was strange about it was that it didn't feel hard.

He didn't know where William was. He had lost him again. He needed to think about staying alive first. He looked around for any sign of movement, though he wouldn't be able to see anything, but he'd be able to hear them. He didn't wait for his eyesight to adjust. You had no time for that out here. You had to rely on your other senses. That he was good at. Stay on alert. But fear was threatening to take over his rational thinking again. Then he heard a soft ruffling, a material of some kind, too light to be a uniform. There was a light, a candle flickering close by. Who would light a candle out here? I must be dreaming. For a moment, he still thought he was in the trenches, that it had been a German that that had rescued him from his prison of debris, intending to capture him and throw him in an actual prison or to kill him.

He reached for his gun that he knew wasn't there. This was a dream. But his heart was still pumping with adrenaline. Looking round, he could now make out the outline of a figure.

As his mind starts to wake up, it starts to register something familiar about it. A shape of a woman, not a German, advancing on him. It all came back to him. He was at Crawley House. It had to be his mother. It could be no one else. But still he shouted, "Stay away from me! Stay back!"

"Matthew, it's mother. Matthew, it's alright. I'm here now."

As she spoke to him softly the muscles in his body started to loosen. She saw the grip of the nightmare finally release him, slowly giving back her son. Once he calmed, he sat up a bit. She untangled the blankets, rearranging them so that they hung loose. He looks down at them, bewildered. She then pulls up a chair next to him. His breathing finally settles. Though he is back with her now, he isn't completely back. His eyes still had a blankness about them that unsettled her.

He could hear her voice, barley through the fog of his mind. He slowly registered them as truth. He was home. He was safe.

He wanted her to hold him, to make this even more real. But he wasn't a child, he was a grown man. At least he hadn't woken up a blubbering mess. He had thought he had been back there. It had all felt so real.

"This still doesn't feel real. It's like all this..." He waved his hand, put it back down by his side and swallowed, is a dream. Back there was real."

She took his hand firmly. "I'm real and I'm here. Any time you want to talk about it."

"I can't...It was so loud there. And it's quiet here." He had barely slept over there. "Everything here is connected to the war. I thought if I went home things would...be better if..." Her son was fighting back the tears.

"This has become our home now. You have people here who care about you. It'll help to have people your age to be around, not just the company of an old woman."

"I do love your company, mother." He smiled, the light and brightness that made them so blue was coming back. The spark of his soul that had not been damaged. But behind that smile she could sense a deep pain that she could not bandage.

"But you see now, that won't do. You'll have to stay. At least till you are better. I'll make us some tea."

"Tea would be lovely." He slightly muttered, still half awake.

They sat in silence while they drank. He had been away when she came back with the cups, he had that faraway look.

She cleared her throat as not to startle him, before she spoke, "I hope it's not too hot." She had slipped some gin into his cup as well in her own. She felt remorse about drugging him, but it would help calm his nerves.

He drained his mug, he himself looking drained, psychically as well as mentally and emotionally.

"You need your rest." She helped him lie back. "Just rest. You've earned it."

As he sighed his whole body seemed to sigh as he relaxed and drifted off back to sleep.

He had not been up to Downton for some time, almost a week, five days to be exact. He was avoiding her and Mary didn't blame him. She would want to avoid herself too. He came to the house Friday afternoon.

"I would like to speak to you, if you'd allow it." He said. His voice was subdued, a little weary.

She feared that things were unchanged, that he would try to continue to push her away. Yet, she was intrigued about what he had to say. But oh, how she wanted to yell at him. He had not only put a wedge between them, well tried and nearly succeeded, but with her family, her dear Papa. Maybe if she put in a word, explained things to Papa, she could put things right again. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone, had he? It had certainly seemed that way. What was there to explain if she didn't get the whole truth from Matthew? Was it truly possible that he had forgotten about Patrick and his death, if he was truly dead? Of course, he had to be. Or they'd have heard from him. Mary felt horrible for thinking that, wishing that Patrick were dead.

It was the Titanic all over again. She had barely felt anything for Patrick. Matthew was the one with the heart. Patrick had been his friend, and Matthew who had only known him a short time, had grieved for him deeply.

"I'll allow it." She didn't let her feelings show, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for what exactly, waiting for him to explain himself, an apology would suffice, maybe not to her but to her family. Maybe she wanted him to tell her more about Patrick. There were somethings people could confess to a stranger. She had to respect his secrets, even in death. How was it that they had been so apparently close in a short amount of time? Maybe he was right in thinking her self-centered, a self-absorbed Lady of standing, just like the rest of them.

No. She wasn't like the rest. He had brought that out in her, something she hadn't believed had existed. He couldn't think that way now, if he ever had. No. She stopped herself again. He had been uprooted from his life, forced to leave his old one. He had said that in the heat of the moment. Her retaliation had been to sleep with a Turkish diplomat and for what? She had loved Matthew long before he had first proposed to her. It was the moment they had first laid eyes on each other. Though she hadn't known it at the time. This, withholding this information about Patrick, he hadn't done it on purpose. She wanted to hear it from his lips.

"Not here." He whispered. They needed to go somewhere where they weren't overheard.

They went out onto the grounds

"I want to apologise for a few days ago. I was hurting."

"I could tell. At least I can now." She could see the truth behind his expression. Then perhaps he was sparing her from tying her down to him as he had tried and failed many times before. She couldn't let him go. Maybe all they needed was some space and time to think. Oh, how angry she was, that they were wasting more time. But patience was everything right? He wouldn't take too long; he would eventually see.

"You don't have to accept my apology."

"I accept it."

He looked up at her surprised that she was so willing to forgive him. She was making this harder. What he wanted for themselves was to move on. "That's not all I wanted to talk about. I got a call from Johnathan Buckley."

"Isn't he a law friend of yours?"

"An acquaintance, actually. He's wanting me back and he's willing to make accommodations. He'll be giving me his father's old office. It's on the first floor."

"Are you going to take it?" He was leaving. She felt like slapping him across the head, if she hadn't had any reservations of hitting someone in a wheelchair. He needed sense knocked into him. But that wouldn't do any good anyway. It would have pushed him farther away from her. And yet, she felt that wasn't the only reason he had been trying so hard to push her away. There was something else, other than his paralysis and what came with it. He was hiding something from her, something about himself he didn't want her to see. He will tell her what it was if he wanted. He'd close down completely if she asked.

"I haven't decided. But whatever I decide, I don't want us to part on bad terms."

She once more concealed her emotions, remaining passive. "Nor do I."

"It's good news that we can hopefully come to an agreement and remain friends."

"Of course." A foundation that needed to remain.

There was a rustling in the tall grass. Mary followed his gaze, a blank but focused stare, like he was observing something carefully. How could he have caught it, she didn't even hear it, barely catching the movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Get behind me. Keep in the shadows. They won't see us." He took her wrist, with a vice like grip, she could feel his fingernails, digging into her, trying to push her behind him.

"It's just Isis." She said as she saw the yellow head stick itself out from the grass. He looked up at her if he didn't understand. From the way he stared, he was not really there, he was somewhere else entirely, somewhere far away.

"I'm sorry. What?" He did a double take, looking up at her with confusion.

"It's the dog, Matthew. It's ok."

"That...that shouldn't have happened." He had only had nightmares sometimes at night, mixing with reality. He didn't except them to have an effect on him during the daytime. Maybe he was just on edge, his instincts heightened, something he learned, over there. You're not on the battlefield anymore.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I heard a noise. I reacted."

"Overreacted."

"What is that dog after?"

"Probably found the scent of a badger or routing round the vegetable garden, who knows. We tried everything to get her to stop digging it up. She is relentless when she gets her scent on something." He was frowning now, his eyebrows furrowed. He was thinking hard about something. "You said they can't see us. Who were you talking about?"

"No one. Sorry, if I hurt you."

"You were protecting me."

"From you father's dog." He sounded embarrassed.

"You didn't know that." A flash of white on the ground. Patrick's letter. She still hadn't opened it, couldn't bring herself to. She was afraid it would be over for her and Matthew for good.

"He told me to come here. Take up the title."

"That's probably the jist of it." He probably saw her pick it up. "How do you really know he's gone?"

"I saw him write it but he didn't give it to me. He said it would be delivered to me if anything...if something were to happen."

"Why didn't you say that?"

"Because I was angry. You saw me in there."

"It doesn't explain why you didn't tell us that you met him before, before the Titanic, why he never notified us that he survived."

"We both know why."

"He didn't want to." Patrick had never said it himself. He hadn't had to. She knew. He was just doing his duty, what had been assigned to him before he was born. Till the opportunity presented itself in Matthew. She found herself angry at Patrick that he would use Matthew in this way. Did Matthew know he had used him? What did it matter now? It was useless to remain angry. Patrick was dead.

"He didn't want the title. He didn't want to be a disappointment to your father. He believed that I would be a better improvement. What improvement I turned out to be." He scoffed. "He'd thought I'd do a better job, helping your father with the estate and helping you."

"Well, I don't need help. It looks like you're the one who needs it." He wondered what she meant by that. "I can't imagine what you've been through."

"You don't want to."

"Would you offer my help if I asked?" He didn't answer her, instead he responded to her previous statement.

"Even if I did offer help, you wouldn't take it. Patrick used to tell me that you were the most stubborn independent person he'd ever met. And from what I've seen, he was right on the money." He smiled and slightly laughed.

"What?"

"He also said the same thing about me." Those blue eyes looked up at her again, bore into her. The look in his eyes, she'd seen it before.

Her stomach flipped.

Suddenly she was taken back, three years ago, before war was declared, before she had made him wait too long, back where they first started, wanting him, needing him, knowing it was reckless and crazy and not giving a damn.

His mouth was on hers, his hand on the back of her head, his fingers, running though her hair.

The emotions and turmoil and the distance and isolation from each other, made them lose control. She lost all common sense. She didn't want to think. Maybe they were a dangerous combination.

"I wish very much to stay." He whispered against her before they pulled away from each other. He said it in a way he had once said to her, one day when he had left to go back to war, I want very much to live. But that wasn't what he meant. He wanted to stay here, in the present. He didn't want to be plagued by the nightmares anymore.

Then stay. Mary thought of saying to him. Then she saw the desire crumble from his face, his brow knitted together, his gaze down cast. Once again, he turned away from her.

He couldn't give her more than that. He could never. He could never look at a woman again. His heart would race at the sight of a woman's beauty but there would be nothing, could be nothing. When he had just now felt the stir of desire as he had kissed Mary, there had been nothing, no feeling between his legs. Oh God. That feeling was horrible. He wanted to feel, he had been looking forward to it, every burning passion that came with being a married man.

He would never marry. He would never be a man again. He stared down at his useless legs, his useless member that lay flaccid. It made his skin crawl. He was sick of himself, trapped in his own broken body. He couldn't show that to her. He wouldn't be able to share his psychical love. How he longed to. And yet, he didn't want her to see his body, see how utterly useless he truly was. He had to be helped to the toilet for goodness sake. At first, he would piss and crap himself and he wouldn't feel it until the smell hit his nostrils. He didn't even have control over that. He would have to use a catheter (by some miracle he hadn't gotten an infection from it, one of the most common deaths in paraplegics. Something or someone was keeping him alive, forcing him to live this pitiful existence) and a cloth nappy for the rest of his life.

Why would she want to be with him?

"I should be heading back inside. They'll be wondering what we're up to."

"Let them wonder all they like." He couldn't do anything alone with her anyway.

She turned toward the house but he remained where he was. "Are you going to head back or..."

"I think I'll stay out here for a while longer. Enjoy the fresh air." He wanted to clear his mind of all the negative thoughts. He had to find a way to rebuild his life. He couldn't help but think that way. He didn't want to all the time and didn't know why he did. It made him frustrated, irritable. Out here he could forget. There was still beauty to be found in the small things. The wind, he could feel on his face, blowing through his hair. How clean the air was. He hadn't got much of that over there. The smell of rotting flesh was something you never forgot.

When he says nothing more, it is clear he wants to be left alone. She turns on her feet, ready to go back, then turns back toward him. His eyes a blank stare. He's somewhere else. She wants to reach out and touch him, her hand hesitates, hovering in the air. Finally she grabs the handle of his chair, patting it instead. She heads back toward the house, her fingers to her lips, where their kiss still lingered.

"Mary told me everything."

He was half startled, not seeing Robert approach him. "She did?" What did she tell him? Did she explain to him about why he never told them that he had met Patrick before they themselves knew of his existence? That must be it.

"I should have told you."

"He hadn't wanted you to. Crawley men rather cover up their tracks, then face up to any disappointment."

"I still should have told you. I guess I wanted to believe he was..." He tried to swallow his emotions. "I'd wanted to believe he was still...How could I forget?"

Robert rested a hand on his shoulder. "Things due to tend to slip the mind during war."

"I should have tried to save him. I just left him there. I left him there to die."

"You're here now." He was being too kind. "You do intend to stay with us?" So, she had told him about the job offer at Buckley's office as well. Matthew didn't have the strength to fight Robert on this. There was no rush anyway. Perhaps staying in Yorkshire could do him good.

"I'll stay. For long as I'm needed. I'll help wherever I can."

_18 Months Later_

_November 1918_

The war was over. Lord Grantham gathered all the family, the servants and the soldiers still remaining, out in the hall around eleven that morning. They all took a moment of silence, as the clock chimed eleven, marking the armistice, they thought of all the brave men that had served, the ones that would never come home.

Mary started to wheel him out of the hall after everyone disbursed. Bates came over, "I'll help with that."

"Can you take him to his room, Bates? I'll hold open the door."

A sudden feeling, like a jolt of electricity shot up his legs. He must have jolted forward a bit in his chair.

"Something wrong, sir?"

"No. Nothing. At least...not yet."

Bates took him to his bedroom, helping him into bed.

"Have you ever done something like this before?" He tried to make light of the situation, concealing his embarrassment. He was not used to having people touching him, doing things for him, that a full grown should have no problem doing. He had the mobility of an infant. An invalid. The words invalid and invalid meant the same to him. The definitions seemed to blur. No longer valid means that something was valid in the past.

Bates did not reply.

"Bates, can I tell you something? I've been feeling or at least I think...that there's tingling in my legs, sometimes pain."

"Have you spoken to Dr. Clarkson about this?"

"He said it's just an illusion. A memory of feeling. I understand that my back is broken, and I'll never recover. But I keep feeling it. I don't want to get my hopes up certainty not mothers or...anyone else's." He had almost said Mary's name. "What would you do, if you were me?"

"I would wait and see. If there are any changes, they will make themselves known."

"Bates. Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't say a thing. Goodnight, sir." Bates turned to leave when the young Crawley called his name again. "Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?"

"Does it get any better?"

"It eases over time. It might take some time to accept. There was a time when I thought I would not walk again, that they had to amputate my leg."

"At least you can walk."

"It gets easier when you have someone to care for you. That are there for you. I never thought I'd be happy again until I met Anna."

"Is she your anchor?" He had to ask. When one of the servants had dropped a tray earlier, during breakfast, it had made him freeze. His fight or flight response had kicked in. He had felt the urge to run, obviously he couldn't anyway, but had fought the urge. The new footman, an older gentleman, who had been a temporary replacement, had leaned down, it becomes a bit easier, if you find an anchor."

He had sat there, breathing deeply, he felt hot and could feel the perspiration start. He gripped the table with his hands. No one noticed. Everyone's attention was caught up in the commotion over the ruined food, and then over Carson, once they noticed, all except Matthew who had been locked away in his own mind. They all feared that Carson had just suffered a heart attack. It had apparently not been.

Mary told him later, that Carson had been given a clean bill of health. She'd been worried about him. He had bit back the urge to ask what was wrong with the butler. It didn't feel right. Like he was missing some information. There were parts of days he sometimes couldn't remember. And he didn't want to tell her those of frightening experiences. But this time at dinner, when the tray had clattered to the floor, had been different, it was like he'd been trapped in his own body, unable to move, apart from his lower half, of course, he could not move his upper half either.

He thought back to when the rain had pounded on the windows, the first time he had been sent back on leave, how desperately he tried not to imagine them as bullets. Mary had been a blessed distraction.

The wounded soldiers that had been seen at the village hospital had almost brought him back to the front if it hadn't been for the pull of Sybil's voice. That rarely seemed to work now. It had not been as bad then. It was difficult to pinpoint when this wearing down of his mind had begun. What had changed? Why was it suddenly worse?

His mind went back to this morning.

How he had sat, frozen. He stayed till only he and Mary were the only ones in left in the dining room. The last of the stragglers were just leaving.

"That footman, what did he say to you?" Mary asked, she was bent down in front of his wheelchair, looking desperately into his eyes. He wouldn't let her see them.

"Nothing."

"What that man said clearly upset you. What was it?" Her voice was demanding.

"It was nothing. Nothing at all. Don't worry about it." He thought of what he had told Mary once. His father had been his anchor, his reasoning. Now she was. She was able to ground him, to keep himself from going mad.

"My..." Bates was unsure what Mr. Crawley meant by that at first. Then when he understood, he beamed brightly. "yes, yes she is."

Matthew managed a smile.

The next day the footman had been relieved of his duties. It hadn't been Mary's doing, he was sure. When he asked Carson, the butler had replied that it had been for reasons he could not say. "Health reasons, which I am not liable to discuss." The man had been old enough to have been in the last war. Matthew had questions for him, but he had already gone.

Later that day the officers and soldiers were prepared to be sent home.

"They've even taken the beds." Cora said. "They're all gone now." She watched out the window as the officers packed up last of the equipment.

"The war is over." Robert reminded her.

"Matthew's still here. Isn't it about time he went home?"

"You want to throw him out as well? Now that he's not convenient?"

"I want him to get used to being independent and for Mary get on with her life." She strongly sensed her husband's disapproval. She feared that his attachment to Matthew was too strong and was blinded by it. He had to let the boy go. Downton had to survive. She had to remind him of that. They had to prepare the future for their daughter. "Mary's marriage has to be a success. Don't you want grandchildren?"

"Sometimes Cora, you can be curiously unfeeling."

Mary found him in the great hall, starting at the record going around on the gramophone.

"I wish I could have taken you dancing." He said as she sensed her presence.

"We can still dance in our minds." They were meant by awkward silence. "Who is this then?" She asked.

"I don't know. It was something Edith bought. I think it was in a show that flopped."

"We were a show that flopped once. And again."

"Oh Mary, I'm so sorry." He took her hand, but she tried to pull away. "I'm still in love with you Mary. I always have."

He let her pull him to her. Bending her face down to his, they kissed. Then it was back, the tingling sensation.

And suddenly before they knew it, he was on his feet.

"Matthew, you're standing! How..."

He grabbed onto her hands for support, trying to balance his weight, they felt weightless, yet...He held her close, feeling the warmth of her, he had so desperately wanted. "Let's just enjoy this moment."

He danced with her, well he more sort of swayed, and kissed her again. It was only a few several cords, his legs buckled, giving way from under him, like they were not there at all.

Where he fell, he was resting against her knees.

"Matthew!"

He tried to get back up, but his legs seemed to refuse.

"Stay there. I'll go get help."

Robert ran down the hallways, banging on the doors, "Everyone, girls, you better come quick."

"What is it?" Edith asked frightened, has something happened to Granny?"

They all rushed into the great hall.

"Is it true, what Mary said?" Robert asked.

He tried to stand up, but his legs couldn't seem to support him. Robert grabbed his arm, indicating him to stop. "Steady on, dear chap, just lean into me."

Robert and Sybil helped him back in his chair. "You need to take it easy, Cousin Matthew." Sybil said, still holding his hand. "You'll tire yourself out...we'll send for Doctor Clarkson."

"Already have I'm afraid." Matthew was almost breathless.

"She's right. Edith, go with Branson to get Clarkson, and Cousin Isobel as well. I don't care what they're doing, tell them to come now." Robert bend down beside Matthew. "My dear cap, I cannot begin to tell you how much this means to me."

"Well, it's pretty good news for me too."

"It is a miracle, no matter how small."

"Nothing to do with a miracle I'm afraid, but my own mistake. Every indication led me to believe the spine was transected which would have been incurable."

"But when Sir John Coates came to see you, he agreed with you." Robert stated.

"Actually, he didn't. He thought it was a case of spinal shock, a bruise to the spine. Which he was also partially correct. It was severe enough to impede the leg mechanism."

"Which would heal." Mary said, hopefully. Dr. Clarkson nodded. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"There was no way of being certain without an ex-ray, with the war now over it was possible. He does have a fracture to his spine, but not a complete one as I had feared. It turns out he has an incomplete one."

"What is the difference?" Edith asked.

"The connection to the brain and spinal cord are not completely cut off. Which means over time the patient can regain some feeling and sensation in the legs, along with some minor movement. And he has."

"Does this mean he'll eventually be able to walk?" Robert asked.

"It hard to say at this point."

"But he was standing. We were dancing." Mary protested.

"I believe a rush of adrenaline aided him in standing, what you might have mistaken as dancing, he was holding on to you for support." Mary didn't believe him, "It overwhelmed his system, trying to force himself to stand when his legs couldn't support themselves, especially when the muscles are weak."

"But he will still recover?" Robert's voice had an urgency to it.

"I still don't want to get anyone's hopes up. He still might not be able to regain full use of his legs."

"My darling, boy." Isobel came over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "It's still good news more than any."

"We can discuss things further as they, if they do progress."

He was in the day room the next morning, sitting in his chair with a lap rug and a pillow on his lap. They didn't know why he needed them. Though he had heard that it helps distract people from looking at his legs, he felt that there was another reason. She spotted him over in the corner, book resting open on top of the pillow. He wasn't interested in reading it, he was staring out the window.

"Would you like me to read to you?" Without a word from him, she took it from him.

"Clarkson's right." At his sudden willingness to talk, she glanced up from her page. "That it wasn't a miracle. Bates and I have been practicing, using the bed post to stand."

"Oh darling, that is great! When did you...?"

"I was doing my exercises with Bates about a month ago, I got this feeling, this tingling. Well that wasn't the first time I had felt it. It was the armistice. At first I thought it was nothing."

"Why didn't you tell me? The others when Clarkson was here?"

"I already told him about that. He said it was a phantom pain, a memory of feeling. But when it happened again, about a week later...it felt more real Mary. I couldn't have possibly imagined it."

"And are you feeling it now?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing. But I could have sworn it was real."

"Darling..." It just wasn't possible, was it? But if he was starting to have feeling, of course it would make sense that he could stand. But the fact that he wasn't feeling it now, had he imagined it?

She didn't believe him. He had to convince her that it had been real, at least to him. "I knew I couldn't have imagined it. Didn't want to believe it."

"You could have said."

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. And I didn't want Clarkson to dash any chance of them or talk down to me that my condition won't change. And I was right."

"He was more wrong than right. We can go see another doctor, get a specialists opinion."

"I don't see the point. He'll tell us no different. I still have no feeling in my legs."

She made a frown. He wasn't making any sense. "I thought..."

"I thought that too. That they were connected. We'll wait on what Clarkson has to say. After that, no more doctors." No more poking and prodding. "Standing is all I can do at the moment. I might not be able to do more than that. We just might have to accept it."

Not wanting to wait on Doctor Clarkson, Mary decided to find a new doctor for Matthew. Dr. Jacobson. He had worked on such cases in the war and agreed to take on Matthew. She had told Matthew she had already had a meeting with him.

"I can't believe you went behind my back. "

"I want what's best for you." She took his hand, "Please, don't be angry with me, darling."

"I'm not. I just wish you would have notified me sooner, so I could make the decision for myself, to make sure he's not a fraud. He could very well easily take you for everything that you got. You haven't paid him up front yet, have you?"

"I already gave him the money."

"How much?" She whispered it to him. "You paid him 500 pounds?"

"That might seem a lot to you. For a middle class lawyer."

"Upper middle class." He slightly grumbled. " Doctor Clarkson already made it clear. I'm not going to recover much further than I already have."

"He knows more than Clarkson does. He knows what he's doing."

"So, he claims." She knows what he was trying to do. He didn't want to be faced with the same information, or possibly worse.

"However grim you make the situation, I'm staying. "

"And if I refuse?"

"You won't be able to frighten me away."

They took the long train ride to Leeds.

"Mr. and Mrs. Crawley." The nurse called them forward.

"It's Miss." Mary corrected her but the nurse didn't seem to be listening.

"Right through there please." She led them to a spacious room.

The doctor entered momentarily. He was clean cut and had an American accent.

"Good evening. I'm doctor Jacobson. You must be Mr. Crawley. I've already met your wife."

"We're cousins." Mary stated.

He opened a folder in his hands. "I see." He said it without looking up "Sorry, it seems I brought the wrong paperwork. I'll be back in a moment."

He briefly left the room.

"American. I knew we couldn't trust him."

"He's Canadian."

"All's the same isn't?" He whispered to Mary as the doctor came back. It made him think of Patrick, or rather Peter Gordon. It would be too soon if he ran into the likes of him.

"I've dealt with many cases like this in the war. There was a whole special unit. Most of them didn't survive. Most of them die from infections, pressure sores or pneumonia. You're a very lucky man, Mr. Crawley."

"I certainly don't feel it."

"Are there any concerns before I do my assessment?"

"He sometimes has pain in his legs and a sensation of tingling." Mary began.

Jacobson explained that the 'jolting sensation' like electricity was the damaged nerves misfiring, trying to send input to the legs. The swelling in his spine had gone down allowing the undamaged parts of the muscles and nerves to breath.

He ran something sharp over various areas of Matthew's legs, asking if he could feel it. Each time Matthew said no.

"You might regain some sensation in your legs but no feeling." The doctor said as he finished.

"Will he be able to walk again?"

"We'll have to take it a step at a time, pardon my poor choice in words, but yes. The first step is to build up the muscles in the legs. Then he'll have to re-learn to walk. But not without assistance. Keep in mind part of the spine is still damaged. He will need the extra support."

"Clarkson said something about it being partially transected." Mary said. "What did he mean by that?"

" He will remain, all intense and purposes partially paralyzed."

"What does that entail?" Matthew kept a neutral expression, that was usually Mary's forte.

"Your mobility will still be limited. " Almost the same as what doctor Clarkson said. The difference was Jacobson seemed confident that Matthew could and would walk again. "But I am confident that will be able to walk. But as far as what that will look like for you, how long or how far you'll be able to, is hard to tell. You won't walk the same as you used to. You already use your upper body strength for most daily tasks?"

"Yes."

"You might have to do the same."

He was not ready for the long grueling task, taking the same amount of effort it had taken him to do the simplest of tasks, rolling over, ect. Re-learning to walk, and in a different way will probably take as just as long as it had taken just to get here. Then there was getting used to it. How he will be able to walk? Will he need to use crutches or a stick for the rest of his life, would he barely walk at all? He hated the unknown. Yet he was glad for this one shred of freedom he would be able to obtain. Mary then asked the question that was on his mind, that he couldn't ask.

"How long will it take for him to be without assistance?" She sat up straight in her chair.

"He would need it his whole life. " Mary looked a bit disappointed but tried to stay optimistic. "He would need to keep a wheelchair close by in case his legs give out, and for long distance walking and if you were to travel. If it's any where he's familiar with, once his legs are strong enough, he can use crutches and eventually move on to a cane."

It was much needed news, but there was still one thing that begged to question. Matthew couldn't bring himself to say this either, Mary had to.

"Dr. Clarkson said he could be affected in... other areas. "

"I see. This is what I should speak with Mr. Crawley about alone. If you could kindly step out..."

"She can stay." Matthew said. Catching Mary's expression, the doctor knew he had no choice.

"Is there any possibility of children?" Mary asked.

"I don't see why not. Though it is rare."

Mary was overjoyed. Matthew looked up at her in disbelief.

"You two should have and will have a very normal married life." The doctor continued but at this point they were hardly listening, caught up in each other.

When they left the doctor's office, Matthew still hadn't said a word.

"You've been awfully quiet." She looked down at him from behind his wheelchair as she pushed him down the sidewalk.

"Just thinking is all."

"About what?"

"When we should tell them." She did half believe him. He had something else going on in that lawyer brain of his.

"Tell me, what do you have going on in that lizard brain of yours?" She got a chill. She had often teased him about his 'lawyer brain' and he had come up with her "lizard brain." referring to how cold she appeared. How could he think of her as cold and unfeeling now?

"Same as you, darling."

It was decided at dinner later that next evening.

"I…I want to tell you all something." Matthew had found the courage to speak up, as he gave a brief glance at Mary. "As you know, during this, well I think, was this horrible time, Mary had proved to be the most marvelous person."

"Here. Here." Several of the dinner party agreed. Including Robert of course, and especially, Sybil. As she sat up straight, listening, trying to hide the smile that was forming. For she knew what was coming. And it was about time. She could have never been happier for them.

"Now, I've never thought I would marry, for all sorts of reasons, but she wouldn't accept them. And so now I'm very pleased to say that I've been proven right. " He deliberately paused, so that everyone was on the edge of their feet. "Mary and I will get married."

"Oh, my, dear fellow!" Robert said with relief, while Cora looked down the table at Mary, eyes filled with worry.

"Matthew and I have been seeing a specialist. He says there's no reason Matthew won't be able to walk again." Mary stated, wearing a smile on her face. Though it felt like her face was about to crack.

Matthew grabbed her hand this time. "And there is a possibility that we can have children."

"That's marvelous!" Sybil was the first one to comment, standing up from her chair. She could no longer contain her excitement.

"Wonderful, wonderful news!" Lord Grantham chimed in.

"When will the wedding be? Have you decided?" Isobel sounded more eager than Lord Grantham did.

"Once I'm able to walk down the aisle. We'll be planning on having the wedding here, at Downtown. To bury forever the memories of what I hope, is the only darkest period of my life."

"Excellent news. Cora, isn't this excellent news?' The Dowager asked her daughter in law, noticing she had not made a comment.

Cora smiled and took a drink. "Just excellent." She was more experienced of hiding the cracks, though Sybil and Violet where the only ones who noticed them.

Afterwards Matthew had joined the others in the drawing room. He made a move to stand, Mary tried to make her way over to him, but he put his hand up. He pulled himself up using the fireplace mantle. He wanted to show off. He stood up, though he was feeling weak from the effort, his legs a little shaky before they stabilized. Still he didn't quite trust himself. He'd have to stay leaning on the fireplace for support.

Everyone clapped at this remarkable feat. A loud bang suddenly broke through the air.

Matthew instinctively ducked his head.

"What on earth was that?" Robert asked.

"I think someone's starting their hunting season early." Mary smiled.

"Matthew?" Isobel had her attention on her son. He was gripping the mantle tightly, his head down, his legs shaking. She made her way over to him, just as she had, his whole body began to shake. Her body, just in time, concealing his. She had to get him out of here before anyone else realised what was going on. Turning her head slightly, her eyes caught Mary, who noticed something amiss, her expression deep with worry and concern. She had noticed as soon as his mother had made her way over to him, but she didn't make anything else of it.

"Matthew, are you alright?" Isobel asked.

"Just stood up too soon, is all." He sunk back into his chair, his legs barley supporting him. He seemed to collapse into it. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Isobel leaned over and put her hand to his forehead, a distraction, to shield him. "You feel a little warm."

"I said I'm fine." He complained. His face no longer showed any sign of distress, but his body did. Still she didn't want to take any chances.

"I think we'll be heading home." She said to Robert, "could you have the car pulled round? I'm so sorry to have to cut the evening short."

"Certainly. No need to apologise." Robert said, understanding. He couldn't have noticed what had happened but perhaps he did notice how worn out Matthew looked. Isobel thought. "He's been pushing himself far too soon. He needs his rest." His statement confirmed that he thought it was his effort from standing, that was partially the case.

Isobel wheeled him out into the foyer. Matthew still tried to protest even as they waited for the car.

"I ruined the whole evening." He grumbled.

"Nonsense. You're not feeling well." His face was sullen. He looked a bit confused, exhausted. Had he been aware of what just happened?

As the car pulled up, he was silent. He was sulking, Isobel could tell.

"Can you lay me down in the back, Molesley? Matthew asked. He managed to scoot his body down to the far window, while the valet moved his legs onto the seat and then rested them on his lap as he got in.

The ride back to Crawley house was silent.

Isobel set up the couch for him with clean sheets and new pillow cases. Molesley helped getting him onto the sofa.

"I hope that doesn't turn into a fever." Isobel said worried. "There's a nasty flu going around." He said nothing, so she continued to adjust the pillows and blankets, making sure they weren't tight.

Her son has shell shock. She can no longer deny it, after she had seen the episode in the drawing room. She had been hoping that it was nothing more than the nightmares. She had seen soldiers in the Boer war that had been inflicted with it. But he wasn't violent as some of them had been, acting out the battles in their mind. He'd just stare blankly when something reminded him of the war, or someone said something about it, or shake uncontrollably when he heard a loud noise. But not always. They were becoming unpredictable. No one could know. But what would that mean for Mary and Matthew? Perhaps it was alright for Mary to know. If they were to marry, he should at least tell her.

She waited till Molesley left, but not before saying that he'd pop in, in the morning, "Does Mary know or do you plan on shielding her from this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't hide them from me. The nightmares. What makes you think you can hide them for her? How long have they been happening during the day?"

"Mother..."

"You need to tell someone."

"Why, so they can lock me up?"

"No one is going to lock you up. We'll find a way. You can tell me." Did he still feel like he was over there and that all of this wasn't real when it happened?

"You'll think I'm insane."

"Of course I won't."

"I love her. I think she can handle it. I'll talk to her about it."

"Good. Or I will."

She did not know if he had meant it. He couldn't hide things from Mary, keep it bottled up. That could affect a marriage in the future, stunt its growth. There were more factors than that to consider. She was still concerned about his health, the depression that might creep in at any time. He looked perfectly fine, other than a little pale from being shaken up.

He would tell her about the nightmares at least. If he could manage his stress he wouldn't have as many of them, he reasoned. This was new territory in the medical field. He couldn't trust any doctor. They would jump at the chance of putting him away. He had heard horror stories about what they do to people like him in those places. But he wasn't like them. He still had his mind.

"I don't know if I have the strength to go through it all alone. What I do know is that I'm stronger with her. I need her right now. Anyway she'll have me."

Doctor Clarkson came in the early morning and gave him a clean bill of health. His mother hadn't told him about the nightmares or the incident last night, or he would have brought it up. Matthew eyed his mother curiously but she was avoiding his gaze. After the doctor left, he announced he was going to Downton.

He had Molesley help him get cleaned up and dressed before heading over to the Abbey.

"Mr. Crawley is here, My Lady." Carson announced, as Matthew wheeled round the corner into the great hall.

"Papa is out." Mary told him.

"It's you I came to see actually."

Mary was surprised but did not question it. It was a good excuse as any to see him. She was worried about how quickly he and Isobel had left last night. How pale and ashen his face had looked. But judging by his complexion now, he didn't seem to be ill.

They went into the library.

"I'm sorry for earlier. I was feeling a bit under the weather."

"No need to apologise for something you can't control."

He was confused about what it was that she was talking about.

"You're looking better." She stated.

"I feel it." He said. "Now that I've come to see you. There's something I need to discuss with you."

She waited for him to continue. He was struggling. Struggling to find the right words? Or some unseen battle in his mind. The gun fire from last night had upset him, startled him. That's all that was. It made him feel sick but he's better now. She reasoned.

"I still have nightmares about it. The war. I wanted you to know. So, you know what you're getting into."

"Must he always be so blunt with himself? "We can find a way through it." She said. He hadn't been expecting how accepting of it she was. "It's still all very recent."

"They don't seem to be as bad." He admitted. But he didn't say that he believed that she was the reason. "Just when I feel stressed or overwhelmed, they become worse."

"We'll find a way to manage."

He simply just nodded. "I made a trip to the office in the village beforehand. I'm feeling a bit tired. I could really go for a nap."

"You can sleep in here. I won't let anyone disturb you."

"I wouldn't want to be intrusive."

"Darling, you won't be. You're tired. You need your sleep." She read the worry on his face, a look that said, what if someone sees? "I won't let anyone in. They'd have to go through me."

"I'd love to see that." He said with a smile. She helped him onto the couch.

"Do you mind if I watch you?" He looked at her, appalled she would ask such a thing, (understandably so, if she was just asking to watch him sleep, under a different circumstance would still be inappropriate) but she saw that he was really frightened. "I can help you through it."

He relaxed a bit at that.

"I'll leave for a while till you fall asleep." She couldn't fall asleep if she had anyone hovering over her.

"No. I want you to stay with me."

She did. It didn't take him long to drift off to sleep. She watched as he gasped, panted and moaned, his body spasmed a few times but he did not wake. She went over to hold his hand. When he finally did wake, he just stared silently into her eyes.

"It... wasn't bad was it? I hoped I didn't scare you too horribly."

"I'm still here."

Those startling blue eyes were filled with such love that Mary had never seen before.

She wanted to stay. That proved that she could handle it. That was one thing off his mind. How could he ever had doubted her?

"I'm so very happy for you and Mary." Cora said, one afternoon. She had come to Matthew's room; he was still using the sitting room. He was still rather weak to even try the stairs yet and learning to walk again was the first step anyway. The most he could only do now was stand with the assistance of the crutches.

"You don't sound very convincing."

"I just...I'm not too sure you know what you're doing."

"Pardon?" He had thought it, but he hadn't been prepared for her to actually say it. He must still be utterly helpless in her eyes. That he held no promise for the future, her daughter's future. Her next words further proved his point.

"Do you want what's best for Mary, your recovery is still very limited and there's still a very small chance you can have children. Think of what this will mean for Mary, for Robert..."

"Mary stayed by my side, against my orders, determined to look after me for the rest of my life, even when it meant she would have to wash me and feed me and...do things the most dedicated nurse would undertake, with no hope of children or any improvement. Do you think it would be right for me to throw her over, to dismiss her as if she was one of your servants." He stopped when he noticed his voice was becoming raised. He knew he was crossing a line but he would not apologise to her about it. No one was going to change his mind.

"We will not fall out over this."

"But you still don't agree."

"Marriage is a long business. There is no way out for our kind of people. "

"This has nothing to do with business. I love her, Lady Grantham. Nothing is going to change that. I will marry her."

That evening at dinner Cora was coming down with something. Carson hadn't been fairing very well either, neither had Mr. Moseley. Ethel was hell bent on keeping anyone who had come into contact with Lady Grantham away from Matthew. She had been taking good care of him, since after those first nine months of his injury, retrieving what he needed, bringing him trays of food, mending his shirts. Moseley and Bates would assist with the rest. Mary had been jealous, how he had seemed more accepting of her help then her own. Perhaps it helped, that it wasn't personal, so that she would judge him, or because it was professorial, meaning she wouldn't ask him about the war or what or how he was feeling. Ethel wasn't exactly chatty, but sometimes she thought she had heard them talking, their voices muffled through the closed door, not just about her work. It hurt her that he still couldn't talk to her that easily. He was still trying to pick up the pieces. Ethel was doing what she had promised. She was looking out for him, especially now. That's all that mattered. Ethel knew Matthew was more at risk of infections now. Even a cold could lead to pneumonia. He was to be brought back to Crawley House, until this wretched Spanish flu shook it's release on the household.

Later that night, Sybil rushed into the dining room. No one could sleep. "Papa, come quick. It's mama."

Dr. Clarkson was by Lady Grantham's side, who was struggling to breath. Sybil was already on the other side of her.

Lord Grantham entered the bedroom, followed by his two other daughters. "What's happened?"

"This is how we found her." The doctor said. "It's bad, I'm afraid. Very bad. The worst."

At this point Mary didn't think he was creditable, but looking at the state of her mother, there was no denying that it was.

"But I don't understand. I was just talking to her. She seemed fine." Robert said. He was doubting the doctor's credibility was wrong. Please, let him be wrong about this.

"It's a disease with sudden savage changes. I'm terribly sorry."

"What can I do? Can I talk to her?" Robert asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Robert, I'm so glad you're here."

"Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?"

"Isn't this better, really? You don't have to make the hard decision."

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Make her happy." Then the rattled breathing suddenly stopped.

Doctor Clarkson came to take her pulse. He looked over at the others, shaking his head.

Lady Grantham was gone.

Matthew came upon Lord Grantham on the grounds, his noble companion, Isis, not by his side. Matthew thought that strange. Maybe the dog herself was in mourning.

He seemed to be wandering aimlessly, with no sense of direction. He had been vaguely aware of Matthew joining him, his mind elsewhere.

What had Cora meant? Had she known of his affair with Jane? Had it been his betrayal, heartache, that had killed her? Or the money. Has she found out that he had almost squandered her fortune? Perhaps it was a combination of all those things.

If was unfathomable that she was truly gone. He never felt so lost.

"I can hardly say the words how sorry I am." He said to Robert. Another person dead because of him.

"You say that as if it was your doing. If it was anyone's, it was mine." How could Matthew possibly blame himself?

"How are the others?"

"Carson's pulled though. He's going to be fine. Moseley was just drunk."

"Glad to hear it. About Mr. Carson. I was wondering if there was anything I can do?" Matthew asked his cousin.

"It's all been taken care of. I'm sure."

"Mary and I made the arrangements." Matthew confirmed. "She sent word to Lady Grantham's family in American. The times been arranged for people to get here. Mary's been wanting to see you."

"No. Not yet. I don't want to see anybody just yet."

Matthew nodded in understanding. "Now that everything's arranged, I should get back..." He cut himself and let himself drift. Back where? Back home, to Crawley house or Manchester? He could hear the loud firing, and the blasting of shells. Get back! We have to get back! We can't lose the others.

"Matthew?"

He snapped his head back to Robert. Concern showed on his older cousin's face.

Robert was worried that he had gone away somewhere, where he couldn't reach him. He feared, what if he didn't come out of it this time. He had witnessed one of these before. They'd been talking about the peace treaties that were being drawn up, to make sure Germany would never go to war with them again. He had been pulled back somewhere. Robert had been unable to bring him out of it. O'Brien and her nephew Daniel were able to help with the situation. O'Brien had told him the best thing to do was to wait.

He didn't have to for very long. It was from Matthew's gentle breathing that Robert knew he hadn't fully been 'away' this time. He hadn't told his daughter or anyone else about the experience. It appeared that he didn't have to now. They seemed to be going away. But that didn't mean he wouldn't still have nightmares. He knows about the nightmares because he's had them for years after the Boer War. But he wouldn't compare this to the Great War. The war of this generation was in a way had been worse. He could understand on some level. Though what Matthew had witnessed, what he had seen...

It will never go away. He will always be haunted by it. But we can help ease it. I have to do something. Get him to stay.

"Back where? Back home? What about the wedding?" He couldn't give it all up now. This was the best way for him to recover. His daughter loved and cared about him, so did he. He was the one that had made the frequent inquiries when he went missing, not giving up hope, when seemingly everyone else had, and certainly not when it was thought he would never walk or father children. All he cared about was his daughter's happiness. It was all he had left now.

"I'm not important or useful to you, or anyone for that matter." Matthew said. Not with these episodes, that were now occurring in the day. He was grateful that he hadn't reacted it out loud, like he sometimes did in the night. He wouldn't be useful like this, how could he run an estate with his mind being unreliable, yet alone be a husband to Mary. It was his guilt, he felt was the reason that they were becoming worse.

"My dear boy, you are important to me. You have become like a son to me. You are my son. Downton has become my fifth child, you are my fourth. You're not going to break off the engagement, not again?"

"We just have to short through some things. Besides, I don't think I can ever go back." What had Manchester have to offer him? He couldn't go back to his life there, he didn't belong there either. He didn't belong anywhere. He only belongs where ever she was. His life was meaningless without Mary. When they had kissed in the garden just minutes before, he realised that it had been foolish to think he could go back to that life, to put that amount of distance between them. She was the path to his healing. Wherever that path would lead.

Could they really ever be married now? He hadn't officially called it off even if he had tried Mary wouldn't have let him. While they'd been making arrangements for her mother's funeral, they decided to give each other sometime. There had been a gap between them, a bridge. He blamed himself for Cora's death. She had simply lost the will to live because he wouldn't give her daughter up. He was tying her daughter down to a disappointment, denying her the true happiness she should have. It had been evident in her voice. He would never tell Mary that of course, who still thought the world of her. He held himself responsible. He owed it to Robert to somehow make it alright, in some small way, though it never would. He had lost his wife. "If there's anything else I can do, just tell me and I'll do it."

Robert averted his gaze, darting around the grounds as if he wanted to be elsewhere. He then confessed how he had almost lost the house and almost all of Cora's inheritance. And Cora must have found out about it. "We can still lose everything."

"If you need any legal advice...I've told you I'd help in any way I can."

"Thank you. But you've done more than enough for now. I very much need to be alone for now."

Matthew nodded again with understanding and wheeled himself back to the house.

As Lord Grantham made his way back inside, he saw that the servants were taking down the decorations.

"What are you doing?' It sounded like a harsh order.

"Taking down the decorations, sir." Thomas, the footman said.

"Christmas is over." Anna said, a bit wearily.

"Leave them up. At least till after new year."

"Yes, mi'lord." Anna said sympathetically, her gazed matched as she passed him. The servants scattered off.

He walked away, almost hastily. He couldn't even bare seeing the decorations being taken down.

Because that meant it was final.

He went upstairs to see Carson.

"A sight to gladden our hearts." He said, cheerfully, as he saw Carson sitting up in bed, with a cup of tea and a newspaper.

"Is it?" Carson was not so convinced. He had lived his life.

"You gave us all a fright."

"They told me about my Ladyship."

"The funeral is Monday."

"I will attend if I can."

Jane approached him in the library. He had hoped to avoid this situation for as long as he could, but he realized the timing couldn't have been better. He had been writing a letter. He had rung to send it.

"You rang, my Lord?"

"I really wanted Bates. But I've forgotten he's gone out earlier."

"He's in the dressing room. He went up to fetch your evening shirt."

He couldn't even keep track of his own servants. He looked at his watch. "Is it that time already?" He got up from his chair. Jane turned to leave, "actually, could you stay a moment? I was trying to come up with a way to contrive a meeting and yet here you are."

She half turned, "I'm sorry about Lady Grantham. I truly am."

That made him need her more. That was the worst of it. The woman he had betrayed Cora with, that might have well contributed to her death, and he wanted her to stay.

"I'm already packed. I've given my notice."

He turned to grab the letter. It was after all, better to give it to her in person. "This is the name and address of a man of business."

"What? You don't owe me anything."

"It's not for you. It's for Freddie."

"I can't take this."

"Truly, it's yours. It's the least I could do. After everything."

"Will you try to be happy? Really?"

"I'll try not to be unhappy. Which is almost the same."

"Almost but not quite. Can I give you a kiss, before I go?"

He obliged.

She was almost in tears, not for having to say goodbye, not for them, they were for him, the thought of him being alone. Family could only help so much, that she knew all to well. But she would not risk his family to ruin.

After Cora's coffin was lowered into the ground, the preacher said a few words, and family and friends said a few words, sprinkling dirt on her grave.

Mary was surprised that it was Matthew and not her father that was the last one behind, still sitting in his chair by her mother's grave.

"When she asked me to see her, we had a conversation about you. She tried to convince me not to marry you. That I had to let you go. I had to think of your future. I refused. I told her it wouldn't be right. She gave up. " He looked up at the sky as if searching for a reason why. He already knew the reason. "Because of us. We are the ones who killed her."

"Oh, Matthew," Mary slightly shook her head.

"Please, don't argue with me. You know I'm right." He trailed off; his voice hitched in his throat. He was trying to be strong. "I'm so very sorry about this. I'm not fit to be your husband, or anyone else's..." Who could love him like this? He felt a fool to drag her into this in the first place, thinking she could take this on. He was getting better with her by his side, but the stress and the guilt had set him back. He needed time to process it all. "at least right now." But I still need you.

"I understand. But I want you to know this, that I'll always be here for you."

**A few months later**

Even after a year and a half after the war, bodies were still being found. Patrick's was finally sent home to them. They had been one of the fortunate ones.

Mary and Matthew decided to make a visit to his grave. He had been improving the last few months. The nightmares had been fewer.

"Just because they're less frequent doesn't mean they'll completely go away. I couldn't hold you to that. I appreciate your resolve, that you refused to give up on me, many times."

"I even had an estate in mind, or maybe even a flat in London." She recalled the memory. Somewhere he would be comfortable, that would be easy for him. Easier wasn't always better, she had come to learn. "I really believe that we can be happy."

"I'm not ready." He wore a frown on his face. In one of his moods. It was adorable this grumpy Matthew but it was also concerning. He would come around, she thought. When he was ready. He would never be ready if she didn't have a say about it. "Could you ever really leave this place?" Matthew asked her.

"No. It's the only home I've ever know. I suppose, I wanted to make things easier...on you. What about you?"

"I'd have wanted to live anywhere. I would have liked to travel, see the world."

"The doctor said it could still be possible."

"I've considered it. I mean really travel."

"Not to the places the army sent you." She paused, regretting she'd even mentioned it. She studied his face but he didn't seem to be in any distress. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No. It's alright." He took a moment before continuing. "Patrick loved to travel, even the places he was being sent that were dangerous. He loved talking to the locals, wherever we went and within twenty-four hours, " a smile formed on his face, he made new friends."

"That sounds about right." Mary returned the smile, only in response to his. But he wasn't looking at her. Fond memories of his friend but she knows possibly that at any moment, they could change into the frightful images of war.

But they didn't.

Maybe she was the medicine that he needed to get better. That proved they were right for each other, didn't it?

They saw the Dowager, making her way up the path.

"But wherever we go, it's over." Mary didn't believe her own words, looking down at him for his response. He said nothing. He might be damaged but so was she, albeit in a far different way. She was far from perfect herself. She would have to tell him in the end about Pamuk. Yes, it must be over. If I tell him, he'll want nothing to do with me. Then who would be there to heal him? It would fracture him. She would die if she lost him forever. "This is the end. How can it not be?" At least this way she'd have him for ever.

"Let's take a moment to remember him. Our father, who are in Heaven, hollow by thy name, my kingdom come, as it is on earth as it is in Heaven..."

"Whatever do you mean by over?" The Dowager Countess had finally made her way over, had been far enough to be in ear shot.

""Granny, Matthew and I came to a decision."

"I can see that."

"Granny, it was an adult conversation and isn't any of your business. I'm going to go see Mama."

"Cousin Matthew, ought I have a word." She pushed his wheelchair, even though she could hardly walk herself.

"Cousin, Violet, you don't need to..."

They came to a halt, out of Mary's earshot. "She's still in love with you, you know."

"I don't think so." He was the reason her mother was dead, why Patrick was. It was a marvel that she had put up with him for this long, could even still be just friends.

"Well, I'm sorry. That just won't do. You need to fight for her."

"Why should I? I thought you didn't like me for throwing her over in the first place."

"That is an entirely different conversation."

"It had to be like this. I can't explain why, at least I'm not going to, certainly not to you."

"Does this have anything to do with Patrick?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you see, that's where you're wrong. If you knew Patrick as well as you say you did, you would know he would want this for you, for the both of you. He wouldn't have wanted the both of you to be miserable."

"You don't understand. I don't deserve to happy. And Mary will be unhappy as long as she is with me."

"Nobody your age deserves that. And if you are and decide to do nothing about it, then don't. Or has the war not taught you nothing?" Her words echoed his mothers.

"That's your opinion."

"Yes, it is. Unfortunately."

He thought long and hard about her words. He was better with her. He found a way a live his life again. She stayed strong and fast to him, through the nightmares. Yet she had to witness the bad ones. It wasn't worth keeping her away from him. He deserved to be loved, and so did she. This world deserves some happiness. He was going to tell her but then they were informed that Isis was missing. They went out looking for her, which he found a welcoming distraction. He stayed closer to the house in case she came wondering back, and his legs were still not up for the task. She walked over to the stone structure, standing next to him, as he sat in his chair. "Still nothing yet."

"They're bound to find her soon. Probably following a scent to a badger." He turned his head toward her. She was still facing away from him, staring straight ahead. She was avoiding his gaze. He couldn't tell what was in her eyes but from her scrunched-up face, he could tell that something was deeply troubling her.

He had to ask her what was wrong. This silence was maddening.

"Oh, Matthew, I cannot go on, like this. There's a reason I had reservations when you asked me the first time. Why it took so long for me to say yes."

"Mary, where is this coming from?" It was so long ago.

"During the war, I thought that things would change and that it wouldn't matter. I wanted to marry you. But now I know I'm sure that this will truly make up your mind. If I tell you about it, you will hate me for it. And I can't blame you."

"You think that I wouldn't accept you?" As he asked it, it finally made sense "This reason is why you would not marry me, not because you feared my loss of position." It was a statement not a question. She had proven that when she had stayed by his side, after it was thought he'd be paralyzed and unable to have children. He had thought she had grown as a person since then (back when she apparently had rejected him after she had learned the news that might have a brother) not that she was harboring some dark secret. He doubted that whatever it was worse than anything he had done.

She nodded. "Aunt Rosamund told me not to. I agreed with her. At the expense of my own heart!"

"Why would you listen to her?"

"I was afraid what you'd think of me. That you wouldn't want me."

"Mary, whatever it is you've done, if you'd marry me, my position will protect you." He wasn't talking of his position of future earl, but his position as a lawyer. "And I don't mean being the heir. There are legal matters on which we can figure out, together."

"Just like that, without knowing what I've done?" He gave a nod. He wheeled over to her, taking her by the hands, looking intently into her eyes. Why must he do this?

"You want to know what I see? When I look at you, I just see you. One day you will tell me, and someday, I will tell you the things that I can't now. But I will still see you. And I hope you will too. When we talk, I know you're talking to me. You're not looking past me. You see me." She saw past his chair. "You don't giggle or simper or pretend to have opinions that you don't have simply to please me."

"Are you saying that you love me because I insult you?"

He smiled to keep from laughing. "I love you because you're you. Because you're not afraid to say what you mean. Because there's no pretense about you."

"Oh, Matthew." She knew what he was doing. He was trying to say that he'd love her no matter what. She didn't know if she could believe that. "I'm nothing but pretense. I told you that when we met." It seemed like a lifetime ago. She put her hands on his.

"I think," he said softly, that you're are the truest person I have ever met."

She closed her eyes against the tears. "You're feeling sorry for me, or yourself. That's all."

"No." That wasn't it at all. It couldn't be further to from the truth. Couldn't she see that?

"I won't be your ruin."

"Mary, look at me. There's nothing else to ruin." He motioned to his legs, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

"Don't joke like that."

"You know it's true. I'm not any better than you, whomever you perceive yourself to be." He looked at her with seriousness now, his voice also laced with his love for her. "You won't be my ruin. Never that, Mary. I would be proud to call you my wife. If you'd have me."

If she'd have him. He had it all wrong. "I couldn't do that to you. I'm damaged goods." She once more tried to convince him.

"Not to me. What you're trying to do, it won't work." He had rebuffed her so many times. He wasn't about to let her give up. They had just been taking some time.

"It was a beautiful dream, Matthew." She said, and every word hurt, to be killing that dream yet again. "But even if it weren't as it is...it wouldn't work."

She told him about Pamuk, it all rushed out in a flood gate. And how Anna and her mother had helped move his body. She waited for his response. He just stood there with a horrified expression on his face. Just as she had expected him to be. His mouth was agape, about to say something, but then it closed in a hard line. But she had misread him. It was replaced by confusion.

"Say something. If it's only goodbye."

"Did you love him?"

"You mustn't try..."

"To understand?"

"Of course it wasn't love. He came to my room. Someone told him, one of the servants, I don't know, told him where it was. If anyone had found him with me..."

"He took advantage of you."

"Matthew, no. That's not..."

"Deserves to be shot if he wasn't already dead. It's his crime, not yours. If he forced you..."

"He didn't. I let him." His eyes widened and she was quick to correct him. "It was lust, Matthew. Or need of excitement, or something in him that I...God, I don't know. I can't quite say I enjoyed it. But what difference does it make? I'm Tess of the D'Urbervilles to your Angel Clair. I have fallen. I am impure." He said nothing, "and I must admit that I am made different by it. This changes things between us. So, you see, it's quite impossible."

"You made a mistake. That anyone could make. You'd just lost Patrick, your world in turmoil and your father forces a stranger on you, it was natural to lash out, to cling to something."

"You're not disgusted of me?" She saw that he was smiling. Why was he smiling? She preferred him to say nothing at all.

"Not disgusted, no. Just ...shocked. It'll be an experiment for the both of us. I've never been...lain with a woman." Of course he hadn't. He was so pure. Her golden angel, her golden prince. "We'll find a way. If it gets out..."

"Somebody already put it out there and can use it against me at any time."

"Who? How could they have come across this information?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Every detail matters."

"It was Edith. She sent a letter to the embassy."

His face crumpled. He had risked everything when he had entrusted Patrick's letter to her temporary care. The information he had confided in her that he had known Patrick, she could have used that against her sister. But she had matured since then.

"If it is ever brought to light, which I doubt, whatever is said against you would be hearsay. It happened a very long time ago."

"What if they take Edith's word for it?"

"Again, that would be hearsay. And name one family that hasn't held a grudge against another member sometime or other."

She couldn't help the warmth spreading across her face. At times she would get angry when he went into lawyer mode, when they had discussed things that didn't have to do with the law. She had taken that for granted. Now she was quite thankful for it. Her eyes were heavy with all the love she felt for him, as she gazed down into his eyes. Could she really put him through all that? Either way, they both ended up hurt.

"If it does, how could I ever marry you? I'd drag you down with me. How could I live with that, knowing that I have destroyed you too? No man would want to have me as much as a woman would want you as I do."

"You'll just have to face it."

"What? Brave the storm?"

"You're strong. A storm braver if I ever saw one."

"I wonder. Sybil is the strong one. She doesn't care what people think but I'm afraid I do. I'm afraid what Papa will think."

"We'll tell him. Together. You won't have to be alone." He held his outstretched hand to her. She stared at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. They walked side by side. "You're wrong about one thing though."

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"I would never...I could never despise you."

_New Years Eve_

_1919_

Robert threw a dance the evening before New Year's. And yet there was no sign of the host. Mary, Rosamund and Granny were about to look for him, when he came into the hall.

"Where have you been? Up to something?" Rosamund asked. He looked guilty of something.

"What? Nowhere…. been busy."

A few moments later, Lady Sinderby re-entered. She had been missing too. Robert had introduced her to them earlier in the evening. And Mary and Rosamund, along with Granny put two and two together, at least that there might be something going on between them.

"We all agree to say nothing." Mary said. "We don't think there could be anything going on." She eyed them on the other side of the room. They were having a conversation with Sybil.

Matthew came over to where Mary was standing, huddled around her Aunt and grandmother, conspiring about something it seemed. To get her attention he tapped her on the shoulder.

"May I have this dance?" He asked.

She gladly took his hand as h led her out onto the dance floor. He held on to her tightly. They could only dance for a few minutes, as he often got tired easily and it was somewhat difficult with the braces. He couldn't do as much as moving as swaying. But they helped with his balance.

"I already told Papa." As she said it, he knew what she was talking about.

"I thought we would tell him together."

"And I'll be for ever grateful. It's already been taken care of. Times are changing, dear Papa has decided he has no choice but to change with it."

"That I have a hard time picturing." The tempo of the music changed that he had to stop. He was starting to grow a bit tired anyway. He wanted to go somewhere they could talk. He'd been planning this for months. With the spirit of the evening and the new year approaching, it seemed the perfect time. "Come with me for a moment?" He got back into his chair. He was using sticks mostly now along with the braces, but he could only wear them for a few short hours.

They went into the library. "Help me take these off." It was a relief when they were off. His legs could breath, he himself taking deep breaths after bending over as he assisted her in removing them. Even though he couldn't feel it, they ought to be stifling and a bit stiff. They would need a good stretching out but that could wait. When his breathing returned to normal, his strength returned, he started to wheel out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"You'll see. Come with me."

She followed him outside. The cold air bit into her warm, bare skin. It was snowing again.

"I hope you brought me out here for a reason." She shivered. How was he not cold? "You really shouldn't be out here. I don't want you catching a cold. You know how dangerous for you..."

"It won't take long." He paused for a moment. "Have you decided?"

"He wants me to go to America."

"Are things getting that bad?"

"Granny says there might be talk of a scandal and Papa thought it would be best to wait it out there till it blows over."

"If it doesn't? Will your grandmother throw an eligible American aristocrat at you to marry and make you a respectable woman?"

"That won't happen. Not in a million years. I'd rather marry you."

"Would you?"

She looked down at him, giving him a look, a warning to not get his hopes up. "You know what I mean Matthew. You know yourself that we carry more baggage than the porters at King's Cross. And what about the late Mr. Pamuk? Will he resurrect himself every time we'd argue?"

"No."

"You mean you've forgiven me?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well then, you see? It's settled." She turned to go back inside when he stopped her by grabbing her arm.

"I haven't forgiven you because I don't believe you need any forgiveness." She froze for a second, not believing what she was hearing. She didn't deserve it. Finally, something in her happened in her, that gave her the courage to face him again. "You've lived your life and I lived mine. And now it's time we live them together."

"We've been on the edge of this so many times, Matthew. Please don't, unless you're sure." She tried to pull away from him again. He wouldn't let her go. She could have easily run back inside if she wanted to but something was holding her back. Deep down he knew that she realised that they were right for each other. There was a fear there, fear of getting hurt again. Damned if they did, damned if they didn't. For her he was willing to take that leap of faith. It wouldn't always be easy with his condition, but he knew one thing for sure, their love.

"I have never been surer of anything." He took her hand and looked up at her.

"What about Patrick? You've decided to honor his memory?"

"He wouldn't have wanted us to be unhappy. But no, that's not the reason why I am asking. I love you, Mary. I know it sounds simple but it's a true as that. And I don't want to lose you now. I will try to be a proper husband to you."

She wanted to kiss him so much for that. How could she refuse him? "I'm so sorry Matthew. I've been hiding for so long." She had just needed to hear the words from him. She had been in denial that he simply could accept her. He was willing to fight for her as she had for him.

He gripped her hand tighter. He knew what it was like to hide. He didn't know if he could be the old Matthew again. That life was gone. But he would try. Then he reached his hand into his pocket, "I wanted to do this right this time." Finally, he retrieved what he was looking for and pulled out a small velvet box. "I'd get down on one knee if I knew I'd be able to get back up."

"You don't have to." She kneeled for him, not caring about the cold, wet snow, soaking through her dress.

"Mary, you'll be freezing."

"I don't mind it." She said, grabbing his hands, looking straight into his eyes. "You have to at least ask me properly."

"Lady Mary Crawley, would you do the honor in becoming my wife?"

"Yes."

They kissed each other in the snow. Suddenly she wasn't so cold anymore.

* * *

**Author's Note: I decided to make this chapter longer. A lot of things had to be covered. I also decided I had to give Matthew some of his mobility back. However, I know I didn't cover the contents of Patrick's letter, but I intend to in the next chapter. It's content will complicate things for Mary and Matthew. And another loss will rock Downton once again along with financial and social changes of the future. Will Dowton and Mary and Matthew's marriage with stand the test of time?**


	4. Always Darkest Before the Dawn Part 3

Chapter Four: Always Darkest Before the Dawn: Part Three

Description: The days before Mary and Matthew's wedding hits a little snag. Another loss cripples the Crawley family that puts a halt to solving their financial problems.

* * *

_June 1920_

Mary respected him more and more each passing day. Their relationship grew stronger as he went to great lengths to get the rest of the family to accept Tom as part of the family. The two men had become close, like brothers. Mary had become more accepting of things she normally wouldn't have before, since she'd been engaged to Matthew. A real proper one, as she called it, even though he hadn't been able to go down on one knee.

He was a true gentleman. Anna told her there wasn't many of them to find these days. He stood by her even through her 'cold jealous moods" Even after they had a sort of falling out over the uncertainty of their future, over things they won't be able to control.

But there was one thing she felt that was still getting in the way.

Patrick's letter.

She had been putting it off and putting it off. She tried to think as if it were his personal diary, his thoughts of sorts. You wouldn't want to read someone's private thoughts.

This was no diary or journal. They were left for her and her eyes only. She supposed she had been afraid of what it would say, what he would think of her. Most of all, of what he really had to say about Matthew, what he had thought of him.

He would want her to read it. She shook her head, before sitting down, preparing to open it, letter opener in hand.

She wasn't doing this for Patrick. She was doing this to for herself and Matthew, to put the past behind so they could live their lives, married, happily ever after. But could they truly?

Seeing Patrick's writing came to a shock to her. The words seemed jumbled, not because it take awhile to focus, catching snatches of words and trying to make sense of them. His scrawl looked untidy compared to Matthew's elegant penmanship. A smile briefly pulled at the corner of her lips. She used to wonder if he had to train himself to write that neatly.

_My dear, Mary_

_If you are reading this, this means I am no longer among the living. I know you have questions, why I never sent word that I survived the sinking._

_I couldn't face your father after I have let him down. You can only guess why. I never wanted the title. I feel all that will change after the war. Social status won't matter as much as it once did. Here, there is no social divide. We all die the same here. But enough about death._

_I know that your next question will be asking is if I ever loved you. The answer is yes, just not in the way I should have, as much as I should have. I believe cousin Matthew is more suitable and more deserving of you than I ever was. My dear, Matthew, wait till you meet him. I know by now you obviously have but what I meant to say was try to get to know him, give him a chance. He's tall, handsome, and had the Crawley blonde hair and blue eyes, very intelligent man, (a lawyer! Upper middle class.) and stubbornly independent as you._

_You will fight each other at first but I know it is right. I think very highly of him. I entrusted this letter to another close friend to give to Matthew upon my death, and will give it to you._

_If didn't receive this immediately after my death and if Matthew never told you about me, please don't be angry with him. I had asked him not to. If there's anyone to be angry at, it's me. I was the one who sought him out, hoping he'd take my place. Then I got to know him. I sent him to you, to help you, your father and the future of Downton. It all wouldn't matter to him either, but he will do it for you, as I should have done, known it will be done out of love._

_I have also enclosed a letter for him. I will not say much more._

_And Mary, be a good girl._

_Love him._

She sat, starting at the fireplace, letter still in her hand. She did not know how to react or what to think. She was relieved she didn't have time to think about as Matthew entered the library.

"I still had difficulty trying to read it." She told him. "I was thinking as if were his diary, his own private thoughts. If you were to stumble upon a loved one's journal, would be compelled to read it?"

"I would have to say no. I have written so much about what I was feeling "in the moment" that I would never want my loved ones to read because it could be misconstrued or taken out of context."

"He also left a letter for you."

"No. I don't want to read it."

That same fear that she had, she realised was gripping him. He couldn't bring himself to read Patrick's words anymore than she first had. Was it quilt? Did he still blame himself of think himself responsible for his friends death. For William's? It was war. Everyone had died. Boys, she and Edith and Sybil had grown up with. That's just how it was. But she couldn't convince him of that. He still wouldn't talk to her how he had died. He wasn't the only one that had been affected by this. Many others had returned, well worse off than him. It had not only affected those who fought. She wouldn't discuss it with him now. She knew he wouldn't hear of it. She let him ramble on. He was distracting himself.

"I recall a night at my grandmother's house when I was probably no older than thirteen. Her house was full of old treasures, so I was prone to snooping in her closets and behind closed doors. One night I uncovered a box of my mother's old letters. I thought my parents we're put on this earth just to feed and clothe me. I was certain their lives were quite perfect, contended in the joys of carrying out their parental duties. I never imagined they had private thoughts or complex feelings so why would I not have read their letters. Once I started reading, I immediately wished I hadn't. Not because the letters contained anything scandalous, but because they clued me into a reality my parents had clearly shielded me from. Bills, the stress."

He had also discovered what his grandmother had really thought of him and his mother, that they were a disappointment, that her son had deserved better, even after his father's death. His mother had been desperate and had asked her for money. What have you ever done for my son? A marriage with nothing to show for, a loveless marriage in the end. How could that have been? They managed to get by, soon after Eleanor's passing. She most had left them some income after all. He had referred to her as that after a while, in his anger and disbelief but over the years the blow had softened and he remember that she hadn't been unkind him. But he did not want to uncover so much to Mary. She'd just feel sorry for him. "Here I thought she was blissfully happy, just counting down the days until she could drop another 100 pounds because I needed new books or a back to school wardrobe. In reality my mother was just an adult with adult problems, but my thirteen-year-old brain had no context for grown-up reality. Your grieving brain may have difficulty putting your loved one's feelings and emotions into context and they are not around to help you understand. Your loved one may have said bad, sad or mad things in the heat of the moment. Just remember, many people only journal long enough to get through the hard times or they only write to their Aunt Sally when their desperate and really need help."

"I think I would feel compelled to read it. Might I be hurt by some "in the moment" feelings? Sure but I think, the benefits would outweigh that risk." He wasn't giving off any recognizable emotions, "But this is not his journal. He left it for you."

"I said no." He became very defensive about his feelings, sometimes he couldn't tell what he was feeling. Had he always been that way?

"Are you that terrified of what he thought of you?"

If he couldn't talk to her about his inner most fears, the war, and what had affected him so, the things he had listed off that night in the drawing room, she doubted he had seen, couldn't be honest with her about any of it for once, and they could argue over something so trivial as this...how would it be like when they were actually married?

The wedding was in a few days.

She waited for him to respond. He just looked around the room, gave her a side glance, before he excited the room.

* * *

Matthew came up to see her after talking with Tom. Mary tried giving excuses for him not to see her. She wasn't dressed. It was bad luck before the wedding. If there was to be a wedding.

"Of course, there will be a wedding. Darling, I refuse to quarrel over things we cannot change. I will do all that I can to ensure Downton but who knows what the future will bring. "

"That's what Anna said."

"And she's right. Times are changing and they're going to keep changing. We must change with them. But whatever happens we will have each other, it's you and me now."

"Oh darling, I am so glad you think that way. But must we always end up fighting?"

"I'm sure we'll fight about a lot of things, about money, about Downton, even about how we rear out children." He couldn't help but smile at the thought.

"Then shouldn't we accept it? Matthew, I've been thinking," She put her palm against the door, as if she'd be able to touch him, feel him there. "if we can argue over something as fundamental as this, then shouldn't we brave it and walk away now?"

"No." He said softly.

"It's not because you're afraid of calling it off? Because I'm not."

"No. It was something Tom said."

"Tom?"

"That I would never be happy with anyone else as long as you walked the earth. Which is true. And I think you feel the same way about me."

Mary realized that she did. And was at the same utterly frightened but had never been so sure.

"Can I kiss you?" He sounded closer to the door now. "Because I very much need to." He needs to know that this was real.

"No. It's bad luck to look at me." It had nothing to do with bad luck. She didn't want him to see her face that would betray her emotions. She very much needed to kiss him to.

"What about if I close my eyes and you do too?"

"Alright, but you mustn't cheat." She closed her eyes, hearing the door squeak open. She followed the scent of him, reaching out her hand, touching his chest. Then her hand traveled up to his face, her fingers tracing his lips. They hovered there before she planted a kiss.

She opened her eyes to see that he had kept his promise.

* * *

The church bells rang, the villagers cheered as they excited the church, tossing white petals at them.

They climbed into the horse drawn carriage.

They were the most beautiful couple they had seen in years.

It was something out of a fairy tale. A fairy tale to last all eternity. It was a wedding fit for a Queen, exactly how Mary felt. Matthew better treat her as such.

He waited for her, in his chair, until she would walk down the aisle (over six months he switched from the crutches to a stick, just in time for their wedding) so he would not be tired out. He didn't want to be worn out for the honeymoon. He wondered if he could do what was expected. He felt himself flush. Doctor Jacobson said there should be no reason why he can't, since he had regained mobility and continence, perform his 'manly duties', as Jacobson humiliatingly put it. But it could prove difficult. He couldn't worry about that now. He was getting married.

As he waited for her, it seemed like an eternity. He had thought she wouldn't come, that she would jilt him at the altar.

"You came. To be honest, I wasn't completely sure you would." He said in a teasing manner.

"I'm glad to hear it. I should hate to be predictable."

He couldn't wait till her father handed her to him. He half turned when they were halfway up to the alter. The sight of her was breathtaking and he didn't even raise her veil yet. He didn't really get the meaning of it other than it was a symbol of purity. Many would argue if they knew.

She was pure to him, in this moment. He lifted it as the Reverend's cue. He wanted to kiss her right then and there but that came later.

The ceremony started. He barely heard his words, as he repeated after the Reverend. Then it was Mary's turn.

She turned to him to speak. He was like a fairy tale prince. In this moment he was perfect. You couldn't tell that he had been in a war, tormented by it. It had all seemed to fall away. There was hope that they could put this chapter behind them, move on from it. The dark and terrible memory of loss and war would soon belong in the past and remain there.

He had turned out not to be a sea monster but Perseus himself, her handsome prince.

She longed up and touch his face but not here. That had to come later. She wanted to get lost in him, lost in each other.

They remembered saying each other's names,

"I, Matthew Reginald Crawley."

"I, Mary Josephine Crawley."

And then I do.

The long wait was over. Just like that, they were married.

They were off to their honeymoon at Gretna Green in Scotland. They would spend the whole week there. Generations of Crawley's honeymooned there and were conceived there.

Mary was hardly one for blushing, but she felt her cheeks flush. She had done this before. But not quite like this. This was different. This was Matthew. It wouldn't be out of lust, it would be out of love.

It was more than psychical. They were giving themselves to each other with heart, mind and soul. He belonged to her and she to him. They were well matched.

As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his brow knitted together in frustration.

"What's wrong? What is it? I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" She teased.

"I was just wondering..." He paused, trying to think of the best way to say it. "if I was worth waiting for. If I was alright?"

"You were more than alright." She really couldn't compare it to anything. Pamuk hadn't had a chance to finish before he... She willed herself not to shudder at the thought. She hadn't dared bring that up.

"I didn't please you." He said it flatly, hiding his embarrassment.

"Darling, you were fine. Besides, we'll have more than enough time to practice."

"God, I hope so!" He kissed her before turning over on his side, his back facing her.

The sheet slightly slid off his shoulders, revealing his bare back. She moved closer touching the road map of scars, tracing them with her fingers.

"Mmm." He groaned, flinching.

"Does it hurt?"

"Mmm, no. Does it disgust you?"

"No."

He turned back to her, touching her face inventively, smoothing her hair, "you are my first wife and my last. I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He kissed her goodnight.

When she woke, she found he was not in bed. He probably hadn't slept there all night for his side of the bed was cold. She found him on the sofa downstairs. His body was ridged. He was starting to mutter in his sleep. It sounded like a name. William. Then, "No. Patrick!" The muttering turned into shouting.

"Matthew. Matthew, it's alright. You're here, in Scotland."

"No. Get away from me. Don't come near me."

"Matthew, it's me, Mary." He seemed to snap out of it. "It's alright. You're here with me."

They just stared at each other in silence.

Over the next few days, the nightmares seemed to lessen, when he was lying in bed, close to her. Feeling her closeness seemed to keep them at bay.

* * *

"Are you alright? Still working hard, I see." He was hunched over his papers, already back to work, doing his lawyer business, as Mary called it. They had not been back from their honeymoon almost twenty-four hours. She sensed this would become his routine. He would focus on his duties at Downton. She was still observing his strange habits, and she had a lot of that to observe and take some getting used to. They had been used to being alone for so long.

"I want to get up to date before I go back into the office." Papa had gotten him his job back at a law office in the village, much to Matthew's dismay. He was very comfortable doing business at Downton so he would not have to travel to London occasionally, when it was needed. Almost two years, and it was still very hard and tiring on him sometimes. His back injury would flare up, especially on dreary, cold and rainy days, which was most days in London.

She saw he was going over the ledgers, recording the finances and transactions of Downton and it's various estates and holdings.

"Can you make any sense of it?" She asked. She had always been good with numbers, a natural in her tutoring days, even an interest. She had never said anything about it because it wasn't expected of her.

"I think I'm starting to familiarize myself with the format." A format that was bit troubling indeed. With Robert's bullheadedness, it would be almost impossible for him to budge. He hardly looked up; his face furrowed.

Mary wondered why he looked so morose. Most of the time, that's just his resting face, she reminded herself.

"I've brought lemon slices and honey for the tea. You know how prone to colds you are." He smiled at her comment. She put them beside the tray of tea. She did not mean to interrupt him during his work, her father hadn't wanted to be interrupted. She and Sybil would sneak in on him and nanny would chase them out. They needed to explore their boundaries. He didn't seem to mind her presence. "It's warmer now, with the fire." She stated but he was not looking in her direction.

"Are we still going to look at the flat in Ripon tomorrow? It's just the right size. It has four bedrooms." He said without looking up from his work.

"Four?"

"We can have Tom and Sybil and your father to stay, the fourth bedroom I can use as an office."

"What about a nursery?"

"If I can give you children."

"There will be. " She said to him, assuredly.

"I love you so much."

"I know you do." She could still not say it back. Did he do something to make her upset or make her angry? She announced she was going to go out riding before she took her leave.

* * *

"You've read it?" He tried to grab the letter from her, but she moved it away from her reach.

_"Dear Matthew, if this finds its way to you, do not feel guilt or regret for whatever fate has befallen me, and know that it is with my blessing and my intent that you be happy. I could not think of such an honorable man to take my place. I will say nothing more for you know how I hate goodbye's, other than to be happy._

_Godspeed, my dearest friend_

She looked up as he collapsed back into the chair. She saw his resolve begin to crumble. Her own eyes begin to tear up, sharing his pain and anguish.

His hand shot up to cover his face. She saw that his body was shaking.

She shot up from the bed, and knelt in front of him, trying to move his hands away. "Please, don't..."_ Don't hide from me. Let me see you._ He took his hands away as if he had read her thoughts.

"I didn't cry..." He hadn't cried for him when he had received the news about Patrick. He never cried for any of his fallen comrades. He had never been able to properly grieve. "For any of them."

She sat on his lap, holding him, soothing the back of his head, hiding her own face from him.

"That's it. You can let it go now. Let it all out."

The crying stopped.

"Now we can start to heal." She said.

He nodded.

"My darling, Mary, what would I do without you?"

"What would I do without you?"

"Can you kiss me?"

She did.

* * *

_December 1920_

Carson came in and served him his usual hot cup of coffee, some toast and sausages and a cigar, along with a set of matches.

Matthew looked out the window of the study, as the winds began to pick up, snow beginning to whirl around.

"What do you think, Carson?"

"I think we might be trapped here for the next few days. Of course, the workers from the village will start to clear the snow around the house. But it will be a hard week ahead, Mr. Matthew."

Everyone's predictions were true, they were in for nasty weather that night, though the storm was not expected till much later. The snow had let up for a few hours, the paths now clear, the family and some of the servants, went out to see a show at the theatre while Tom wanted to look into some business with the farms. Matthew would stay home with Sybil. She wasn't due to have her baby till another month.

"If you need Dr. Clarkson, just give him a ring. I think he'll be able to make his way up to the estate." Robert informed Matthew before they left. "The paths and inside roads have been cleared of snow. "

Matthew nodded, "She'll be in good hands. Though I don't think we'll get up to anything too exciting."

"Now, I don't think it'll come to that. The baby doesn't come until another month. I'm sure she'll be fine." Mary said, as she put on her gloves, ready to part out the door, between the both of you." She rolled her eyes and made her way out.

By the time they got inside the warm theatre, the snow had stopped and turned to rain, which meant icy roads.

Sybil started having sharp pains at seven that night. She said it was nothing, that it could be false contractions. They didn't look false to him. Matthew finally got her to lie down in one of the bedrooms. Once she turned over on her side, in attempt to try to ease the pain, he saw a red stain in the middle of her back start to spread.

She saw the worried, and terrified look on his face. "What's wrong? Is there something the matter." His eyes seem to darken, then there was translucency in his eyes like he wasn't there at all. "Cousin Matthew, tell me what is it? Tell me what's wrong."

"Stay there, I'm going to ring for...Clarkson."

She didn't hear the last word, found his voice trailing off although he was still speaking. She felt her head going a bit fuzzy, her vision as well. She couldn't figure out why there was screaming.

Matthew tried to run as fast as his legs would allow him. Halfway down the stairs, he didn't even feel them go out from under him. Did his feet get caught on the carpet or had the visions assaulting his mind make him loose his footing? He managed to get to the telephone and dialed Clarkson's number, then his mother's.

"Mother, it's Sybil. There's blood." Was all he managed to get out.

"Did you call Dr. Clarkson?"

"Yes, he's on his way."

"I want you to go back to her room and stay with her, till he arrives."

"Mother, I can't go up there." Sybil let out a loud cry of excruciating pain. He got to the foot of the stairs, taking the phone with him, as far as it would go, as far as his body would go, lowering himself onto the bottom steps.

"I know it's unorthodox for men to be in the room during childbirth but this overthrows those circumstances. She needs you to be with her."

"Mother, I can't..." He tried to pull himself up using the banister, but his legs would not simply obey. They could not support his weight. "My legs won't work. I can't move my legs."

"Try..."

"I am trying." He shouted before he hung up on her and threw the telephone, ripping it out of the wall, landing in the middle of the foyer.

Dr. Clarkson did eventually arrive in mere minutes, but it seemed like eternity. He saw Matthew on the stairs, his head resting on his arm. He didn't seem to have any serious injury. Upstairs he heard the wails of the youngest Crawley daughter, a dire situation.

He felt the gentle hand on his shoulder, "Mr. Crawley, I want you to stay where you are." He said he would tend to him as soon as he can, but Matthew barely payed attention to his words, unresponsive.

Anna came out of the servant's hall. Struck and terrified of what she heard.

"Anna, is it?" Dr. Clarkson asked, not waiting for a reply, "I want you to stay with Mr. Crawley. Can you do that for me?"

Anna nodded.

Isobel was worried that the phone call had ended so suddenly. Had the line gone dead or had he hung up on her? She only wanted to tell him and try to remain calm, even though it went against her medical training. Asking someone to remain calm only escalated the situation.

She looked out her window. The snow was still falling, much faster now, and you could barely see in front of you, from where she stood from her window. With her eyesight not being what it used to be and the change of life had made her bones softer, one small slip she could break something and no one would be able to find her, there was no way she could she would be able to make it out in this.

She could only hope that help could get to them in time.

* * *

Mary had a feeling in the middle of the show. She got up from her seat rather quickly. She excused herself to the powder room while in truth she was going to look for a phone.

"Mary." Edith walked up to her. "you left all of a sudden, when you didn't come back..."

"Somethings wrong."

"Is it Sybil and the baby? Is Matthew alright?"

"I don't know? I can't get a hold of them. There's no operator. I don't know if it's a bad connection or..."

"I'll go get Papa and then I'll try reaching Cousin Isobel."

"I'll head back. Maybe I can find Tom on the way back to the house." She made her way toward the double doors.

"She'll catch her death out there." A man said.

"It isn't safe." said an older woman about his age, who had to be his wife.

"They already started blocking off the roads. We might be stuck here all night." said another couple, a younger one this time.

Edith looked worriedly around at the theatre goers, picking up the phone she tried to dial Isobel's number. She didn't know Dr. Clarkson's, and Isobel was a nurse. She'd go fetch Papa once she'd gotten through. But she didn't. The line was busy.

It was the worst weather they had seen. The fierce winds made it hard to see, icy surfaces made it hard to walk. Workers were throwing down rock salt and cinders.

Mary saw a light up ahead. The head lights of a car. She narrowly had time to get out of the way as it came to stop in front of her.

The driver opened the door.

It was Tom. "Get in."

They had managed to make it halfway to the estate when the tires got stuck on the ice.

"We'll have to run the rest of the way." He tried to keep her close to him and upright as her feet slid all over the ice, like a newborn calf. If he let go of her he could lose sight of her in the swirl of endless white and never find her again.

The front doors banged open, a swirl of snow and cold air blew in. Anna made a path for Tom and Mary to run past, neither of them took notice of them. Neither had Robert or Edith when they came rushing by, having arrived shortly after.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Mr. Crawley?" Anna asked him. "I can go get Mr. Bates."

"No. It just takes a little while." He managed to pull himself into a sitting position, adjusting his legs. He could move them a little bit now, but they were like dead weights.

They both sat quietly, waiting for something, anything.

Then there was a cry of a baby. Then all was silent again.

Mary came down the stairs several minutes later, or perhaps hours, moving slowly, stopping halfway on the landing. "She's gone." Instead of taking comfort in her husband, she seemed to stare through him, before turning back.

* * *

Sybil's body lie on the bed, if she where nearly sleeping. To others it would appear that way but if you knew what death looked like, you wouldn't say they looked like they were sleeping, at least to him. He had seen far too many bodies to know.

"I brought this for you." He placed the stuffed dog in her hands, which have already gone cold. There had been far too many deaths, even for this house. "My father's name was Reginald. I felt closer to him during the war. It had nothing to do with luck. A bit too late on that aren't we?" He tucked it in further. "We'll look after them. Mary and I, we'll take care of them both."

"Matthew?" Tom hadn't been sure if he had heard his voice. He had passed out in a chair, from the shock and the grief and tears. That was the only way he could have been able to sleep. It felt like a dream, that this was a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He had hoped it was. Then he saw the outline of her body on the bed, from the flickering candles. That was when he heard him or thought he had.

Matthew turned his head in the direction of the sound of his name. He hadn't seen Tom, huddled up in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Is that you?" Tom asked, he could barely make him out by the dim light.

"Yes. It's just me."

"Where have you been?" It was a worried tone.

"I was at the bottom of the stairs."

"I didn't see you." He hadn't recalled passing him.

"No one seemed to. I managed to drag myself up here before they realised. Doesn't matter. They had better priorities."

"Let me help you." Tom came over, Matthew hadn't the strength to protest, and helped him into his chair. It took a bit of effort as Tom was shorter and it didn't help that his legs were still weak. Even that exhausted him. He was slightly out of breath.

Tom clearly had concern on his face. He wasn't ask if he was alright when he clearly wasn't. "Can I do anything for ye?" He asked instead. He wanted to help his brother in-law in any way he could.

"I'll be alright in a moment." _He's more worried about me, then his dead wife. It shouldn't be this way. I would have been better of if I'd_ _died_. The familiar wave of endless guilt. It's why his condition has worsened. He waits for the flashes to come back again, associated with any stress or strain. Waiting for his heart to race, the perspiration to start, his whole body to feel hot, his hands cold, his throat to tighten, his body and mind to freeze, unable to think. He had felt his mind go away, at the sight of the blood.

His mind had been stuck in the past, for who knows how long. It was the reason she was dead, that he hadn't gotten her help in time. The least he could have done was stay with her, in her last moments, what he wished he had done for Patrick, wasting all that time to get help. To die alone was worse. But Sybil hadn't been alone. She had been with her family. They had been the ones to be with her as she took her last breath. It was all this fault. He might as well have stayed with her. He should have stayed. "I'm so sorry, Tom. I shouldn't have left her alone."

"No, I shouldn't have left her alone. It wasn't your fault. If it hadn't been for you, we would have lost them both. There's nothing else you could have done. No one could have." He came over to his wife's body. It looked like he was about to break again. He noticed the brown object in her hand that resembled a scotty dog. "What's this?"

"It was Mary's. Sybil used to be jealous of it."

As if saying her name had summoned her, Mary knocked and entered the room. "It's time to go to bed. We have to have the strength to face tomorrow. Tom are you staying?

"I'll stay with her now. This is my chance to say goodbye."

Mary turned her attention to Matthew.

_Now she notices me._ He thought bitterly. "I'll be sleeping in the dressing room tonight." He said, and wheeled himself out.

* * *

"The stress caused a relapse." Dr. Clarkson told Mary and Robert. "And he was forcing his body to do something it can quite no longer do. It overwhelmed his system."

"He will get back to where he was?" Mary wondered, full of worry, a bit of weariness from her grief.

"Yes. It might take a few days. But for right now he's almost completely lacking mobility in the lower extremities. Once his nerves have settled, everything else will have settled."

"What do you mean by that?" How was it possible that Sybil's death had affected him more than him, her own father? _His nerves, that's another term for_...He didn't want to think it. He was better now.

Clarkson didn't answer Lord Grantham. The young man hadn't been aware of his presence, unresponsive. He doubted that anything would have changed. "I'll go check on him now to see how things have progressed."

"I'll come with you." Mary said.

"Lady Mary, it might be distressing for you."

"I can handle it. As I told you before, when he was first injured." Doctor Clarkson wasn't convinced. "I'll stay out of your way."

"She needs to go be with her husband." Robert stood by his daughter.

Clarkson nodded and went into the dressing room. Mary stayed by the door.

Matthew was lying on the bed, inert, his eyes expressionless, unfocused like before, she noticed as she got a bit closer, after he had been informed of his spinal injury, after he had pushed her away. Hours, days, he had laid in that catatonic state.

"Mr. Crawley, can you hear me? It's Doctor Clarkson."

"What do you want with me?" He grumbled in frustration.

Dr. Clarkson wasn't too quick to make any assumptions that he was yet fully back with them. "I came to check on you, as I said I would." He cracked a friendly smile to indicated to his patient that he was in a safe place.

"I went back there. I was back."

"It's alright. You're not now. You're here."

"Where's here?" His voice filled with uncertainty, cracked slightly.

"You're safe. You're here at Downton."

Some awareness comes back into his eyes. "I wasn't?" .

"No."

"I saw...There was so much...I couldn't help." His voice is almost a whisper but was loud enough for Mary and Robert to hear.

There was no way of knowing if he was talking about Sybil or what he had experienced on the battlefield. It was best just to go along. "But you did. You did very great." Clarkson stepped out into the hall.

"What...what was that?" Robert asked. Mary stayed where she stood, helpless. Unsure of what she could do.

"That." Dr. Clarkson paused for a moment, he had hoped he had been wrong, that he could delay the inevitable, "was shell shock."

"It's been two years since the war." Robert began, puzzled. He hadn't seen any further episodes, not since he and Matthew had talked about it, well Robert had only ever seen one. This had been in 1919, only a year after the war.

"Shell shock is still a relatively new field." As Clarkson said it, a wave of fresh grief washed over Robert, even guilt that he was more worried about his son in-law than his daughter, that had just died. "We don't know for certain what causes it, why it affects the mind differently than others. How long the effects will last."

"You were sure he didn't have it." Mary was confused and becoming angry.

"Some soldiers are better at hiding it."

"He isn't a soldier anymore!" Her anger boiled over, masking her pain.

"Lady Mary, I must have you refrain from shouting. It could further worsen your husband's current state."

Her father gently squeezed her shoulders, trying to calm her. It worked. "Yes. Sorry."

"I think the shell shock also contributed to his current condition. Why his legs suddenly gave out."

"You think this is all in his head?" Mary asked.

"Partially. Emotions affect one's health, we now know that. I believe they have an effect on one's mental health as well."

"How do we help him?" Mary had desperation in her voice.

"Is there anything we can do?" Robert asked.

"He needs to surrounded by people who care about him. He needs all the positive support he can get. That's the best thing for the road to recovery. We'll need to find out what his triggers are, how to asses them, try to avoid them, if we can and to help him cope. I would like to keep a close eye on him for tonight. I would move him to the hospital for observation but with the roads..."

"Of course. I'll have Carson prepare a room for you." Her father was saying to Clarkson.

"Thank you." Clarkson said.

"Why would he need to be put under observation?" Mary questioned.

"A precaution, to make sure he's not a danger to himself or others. If it worse than it is, he may have to undergo treatment, which I hope doesn't happen. I'll try everything in my power to make sure it doesn't come to that." He had been studying cases that were way worse than Matthew, some who had no faculties about them at all. He had witnessed the brutality and inhumanity of how the patients were treated. He believed that they were sick just as any other psychically ill person. It made him psychically ill. The distressing event of Lady Sybil's death had been a shock to his entire system, including his mind. If they kept the stress to a minimum he prayed that it would get back to normal, that this current state of his mind would subside by morning.

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson." Mary thanked him. She waited till they all left.

She went into his dressing room, lying next to him. She whispered in his ear, softly, _"_please, come back to me. my darling." He didn't respond. He didn't even re-act when she touched his hair and stroked his face. She slid off the bed and went downstairs.

She made her way to the drawing room, sitting there for a while, before ringing the bell. She asked Carson to fetch Anna for her.

"I can't be with him right now. I can't see him...Does that make me a horrible person? I can't be with him when he needs me the most."

"No milady. You're trying to cope. You're trying to make sense of things."

"What is there to make sense of? When he's lost in his own mind and can't make sense of anything?"

Anna sat down on the couch and embraced her, as Mary finally broke. She didn't care that she was crossing the boundaries or if Carson came in and yelled at her for sitting on the furniture. "You just lost your sister and you fear you're losing your husband."

"He blames himself for Sybil, I know it. That's why he's like this."

"No one is to blame. It was the war. What he saw."

"Must it always disrupt our lives when we finally have something."

"He's trying to cope in his own way. He may be lost now but he'll find his way back, I know he will."

"You're absolutely right. I have to stop trying to be cold unfeeling bloody Mary. I have to stop hiding behind it and be strong for him."

* * *

While the two had been talking, Daisy had gone up to Matthew's dressing room to start the fire. He looked like he was cold. She always thought of him as nice, even though she was sure he didn't know of her existence.

He was tossing and turning fretfully. When he stopped, and she could see his face by the light of the fire, he looked rather pale and he was sweating, as if he had a fever.

She ran down to the servant's quarters and rushed into Carson's office. Carson and Miss Hughes were still up.

Her sudden presence startled the housekeeper. "Daisy, what in the devil..."

"It's Mr. Crawley. He's in a bad way." She held her hands nervously, pulling at her fingers as she often did when something deeply troubled her.

"I'll fetch Dr. Clarkson. He's staying in the room next door." Carson said, grabbing a lantern.

"Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?" Daisy asks.

Carson headed upstairs alone while Miss Hughes had Daisy stay with her.

Thomas and O'Brien got to the room before anyone else. They had probably been up to something when Thomas had heard Matthew.

Thomas had him pinned by the wrists and O'Brien was trying to calm him. "It's alright, Mr. Crawley. It's just a bad dream."

"Mr. Barrow..." Carson started off angrily as he entered with Dr. Clarkson behind him.

"Mr. Barrow, if you please refrain from restraining him." Dr. Clarkson said, gently.

"He might hurt himself." Thomas said.

"You might hurt him."

Mary got to the top of the stairs when she heard the cries of distress, they only seemed to get louder. Matthew. It sounded as if he was in agonizing pain. She made her way to the dressing room, utterly frightened at what she saw. Thomas was holding Matthew down, who was thrashing about as much as he could.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Mary tried to hide the panic in her voice.

"Mr. Barrow, if you, please, this is no longer a request." Dr. Clarkson was growing impatient.

Thomas relinquished his grip. Matthew sat up, grabbing him by the shirt.

"Don't leave...in case they come back...Cover me. My gun won't work..." It's almost a plea. He puts a hand to cheek and makes a motion as if to wipe something off his face. _Dirt, mud or blood, _Mary morbidly thinks. Then grabs Thomas with both hands again, shouting, "you bloody coward."

Thomas stiffens in his grip and stares back at Matthew's own frightened eyes. No one notices, or so he thinks, apart from Mary. Matthew lets go of him and slowly lies back.

"Why is he talking like that?" Mary was still frantic. She had lost her sister. It felt like he was dying as well. When he'd been thrashing around it had been like he was having some sort of fit.

"He's just having a nightmare." Clarkson stated. He went around to the end of the bed. "Mr. Crawley."

"No." He flinches as Dr. Clarkson touches his foot. The movement is not because he can feel it. There would be no feeling there. He's looking at Clarkson as if he's seeing someone else. "Don't send me back."

"No one is going to send you back. It's alright. You're home. Here. Safe. You just had a bad dream."

Mary shook her head, sensing that something was wrong. As she got a better glance, she could see that his eyes were open, and they were looking directly at her. "But he isn't sleeping. He's awake. Look, his eyes are open."

"Sometimes the nightmares can bleed into reality. It's best if somebody close to him tries to talk to him, tries to calm him."

Mary nods, going over to his side, "Matthew. It's me, Mary."

He relaxes a bit. His eyes dart around the room before finding her. She smiles at him but she quickly realises that he's not there. It's not the blank look he had like before, his eyes aren't clouded, she notices, the pupils seem larger than normal. Something is wrong.

He turns his head to one side, "I smell burning."

"I don't smell anything." Mary desperately looks at Doctor Clarkson, "What does that mean? That can't mean anything good, can it?"

"Phantom smells could be a sign of a sinus infection. Nothing too serious. We should keep a close eye on..."

"Mary." He seems to be coming back to reality.

She grabs his hand. "I'm here."

He suddenly closes his eyes tightly.

"This isn't the shell shock. Something's wrong, Doctor Clarkson. Look at him. Can't you do something? He's in...pain." She choked on the last word as if she were feeling it herself.

"He is a bit warm. I can give him a Acriflavine and a sedative but first I'd need someone to go fetch me a torch so I can do a further examination."

Carson leaves to go grab one and comes back shortly. Matthew was calm but his breathing was still heavy. His eyes fixed on an empty space, at something only he could see. Clarkson shines the light in Matthew's eyes. "His pupils are dilated. This isn't a nightmare. He's hallucinating. He's taken something."

"Matthew." Mary tries to get his attention.

"No. No. No. No." He said, over and over, curling up, trying to cover his ears.

"Matthew. What did you take? Tell doctor Clarkson what you took."

His gaze shifts to Thomas.

"What did you give him?" Mary demanded. She nearly had Thomas backed up against the wall.

"Nothing...I...I was trying to help him. He came to me. He wanted something to help him sleep."

"Whatever it was its side effects made the shell shock worse." Dr. Clarkson said. "Good thing I didn't give him the sedative. The effects could have been disastrous."

"Let's hope Mr. Crawley confirms your story once he recovers." Mary said to him bitterly.

* * *

Carson had a word with Thomas. Wondering what he was doing wandering around the houses so late.

"I was going to check on him, when I heard him."

The butler turned to O'Brien. "I was tending to Lady Edith."

"Daisy?"

"I went to start the fire for Mr. Crawley. I thought he'd be cold."

"Never mind all that now." Miss Hughes stepped in. "If it weren't for Daisy, things probably could have had a drastically different outcome."

"I'd say." Mary had entered the servant's hall. She thanked Daisy, honorably. "Carson, can I have a word with you a moment?"

They went into his office.

"I don't doubt that Mr. Barrow had good intentions." Carson said. "But it is up to you if you want to press charges or not."

* * *

_"So you know he's only missing. That's all." Her father was saying to her. "Then you need to hold onto that. He's not dead and that's important. You mustn't allow yourself to think otherwise."_

_How could she not? The pampered, spoiled Mary of 1914 might have believed, might have dared to hope but now? Yes there was a chance that he had been taken prisoner, she ought to cling to that possibility but it was more likely he'd fallen by sniper's bullet or a shell._

_They had found him. She wasn't informed of his injuries as they helped move him onto the bed, she found herself looking him over. He had all his limbs attached. He looked so fragile and pale, the bruising on his face. Other than that he was perfectly fine. She was unable to see the inside damage. A shell had blasted him against something, severing his spine above the waist. He would never walk again. She knew that the life for them was over, though she told herself it wasn't._

_His clothes were cut and she washed the dirt and blood from his body, the water, turning darker and darker._

She awoke with a start. She had been dreaming. Her father had never said those words to her when he had been listed as missing in action. She did not believe in divine messages or intervention. It was her own mind trying to tell her what she must do.

Beside her Matthew was turning, slightly fretfully, before he too was jarred awake. She turned to him and put her arm around him. He went ridged at her touch.

"Mary." He whispered, a hushed tone filled with a hint of uncertainty and fear.

"It's only me. It's alright."

"Are you real?"

"Yes, my darling. This is very much real."

She interpreted what her dream had met.

He wasn't dead, just lost, in a prison of his own mind. She would do whatever it took to bring him back. She had somehow done it before.

Once he was awake the next morning, Mary called upon Dr. Clarkson. Matthew was lucid and seemingly back to normal. He regained most of the feeling and movement in his legs, though he stood up shakily. He was ordered back in bed. "Get some rest. It might take another day or two."

The doctor took Mary to the side, out into the hall. "He doesn't seem to be a danger to himself or others but if there is any change, I want you to inform me."

* * *

Downtown was paralyzed by the death of Sybil. Everything, including everyone, seemed to stop, even the servants. Carson and Miss Hughes had a silent breakfast, commanding none of them to speak. It wasn't an issue however, none of them could say anything at all.

The sweetest soul of Downton was gone. That's what most have thought of her. Including Matthew. He thought of himself to be a kind, caring man, not passing judgment on anyone, a gentleman, before the war. But now? Was he still a good man? He had left him there. _No._ _I left to get help._ The other man, he had deserted them. If that man were ever caught, he'd be court marshalled, imprisoned or shot. No one deserved that.

Then a flash of memory. He puts his hand to his face, as if to stop it. But it's not necessarily a bad one.

A man with black hair, a familiar face hovering over him. Hovering over his bed, then frantically looking at him down in the trenches. The familiar face of Thomas Barrow. He turns and retreats, running away from them, leaving him without protection and leaving Patrick to die.

He could never give the man up. The war was over. No one else deserved to die or claimed because of it. They deserved a second chance.

Even asking himself if he was a good man, meant he still was, wasn't he?

* * *

Tom, Edith, and Mary had taken breakfast in the dining room, but none of them ate. Lord Grantham and Matthew were the only ones who didn't come down.

Sybil's death and her concern for Matthew wasn't the only reason Mary couldn't bring herself to eat. She had Thomas arrested that morning. No one else knew about it yet, except for few servants.

She tried to tell herself it had been the right thing. Then why didn't it feel right? She was miles away while Tom was talking to them.

Tom said he would be leaving once he could find a job. Edith told him there was no rush. "Have you thought of a name for her?"

"Sybil."

"Wouldn't that be painful?" Mary asked.

"At first. How's Matthew doing?"

"A bit better but not by much. I had Anna send him up a tray."

"He blames himself." Tom said. "His health shouldn't suffer for it."

* * *

It was a few days before his mother could come up to the house to see him. She should have been there to help.

"You could have fallen and broken something." He told her. "You could have lied there, and it would have been hours before someone found you. Then where would we be?"

"You're right." She had said it more for his comfort. She wanted to talk about what had happened, the night of Sybil's death. He had had an episode in the middle of trying to get her help.

"It was a bad one, mother." He said. "Mary's never...seen me like that."

"She handled it very well from my understanding."

Just how much had she been told? Robert had slept through his worst of it, probably with the assistance of alcohol, to help him sleep. Just as he had. He had asked Thomas, before the wedding to see if he could find him something to help him fall asleep, so he wouldn't have the nightmares. He hadn't explained the last bit to Thomas, he hadn't needed to. He had been managing the nightmares and hadn't needed it, until now. He knew that Thomas had connections. The footman had witnessed the same many horrors and had to have the same torments that he had to face at night. Thomas had been reluctant and hesitant before he had said, I'll see what I can do." He had come to him with a bottle of Absinthe, basically alcohol, with a few other ingredients that were supposed to help. It had been banned in France and the only way to get it was through illegal means, the black market. Thomas had handed to him, the night he had spoken to Mary about their future, he had carried it on him, even as he'd spoken to Tom, _You won't be happy with anyone else as long as Lady Mary walks this earth._ He had felt as if it could burn a hole in his pocket, as he talked to her about their future.

He had needed her to kiss him, pull him back to reality, that he was really going to marry her. In that instant, it had reminded him that all he needed was her. And he would be alright. As long as he had her. But sometimes she wouldn't be enough as had been evident with Sybil's death. He didn't have use for it until a few nights ago.

"I was thinking of spending more time here." His mother was saying. "For the night I'll be staying in a room next door."

"Mother, you don't have to..."

"It will set my mind at ease to know you're alright."

He pulled himself up "Can you bring me my chair and my crutches? I can't very well stay in this bed all day. It will set me further back. I have to use my legs, keep them strong."

"Yes, you should. It's good that you're showing initiative. Do you need any help?"

"I'll have Bates do it. I'm just going down to the library."

"Are you sure it can't wait, that you're up to it? I don't want you to overexert yourself. The weather will be warmer in a few days, so you will be able to attend the funeral." She thought she saw his face shadowed with distress. She then quickly added, "the paths will be clear by then."

But he hadn't heard or wasn't listening. "I have someone to met in an hour." They wouldn't be able to bury her until the ground thawed but they would still have a service. It would be months before they could have a grave ready for her. He fought the images of rotting corpses.

He had to get his mind off it. Murray was coming and it was the best excuse as any. The world must go on.

* * *

Mary came into the library to get a peace of mind, only to find Matthew and her father's lawyer, talking about the estate. That upset her more than how quickly he appeared to have recovered, the fact that he was moving on as if nothing had happened. Just not long ago he was literally and figuratively crippled by the loss. "What is this?"

"Mr. Crawley and I were discussing the future of the estate." Murray said.

"My sister's body has just been removed from this house." Sybil's body had lied in the bedroom where she died for two days. Tom hadn't left her until the men from Graspie's arrived, even then it was harder for him to budge, if she and Edith hadn't convinced him. And poor Papa hadn't left his room. Matthew, taking charge of things, without him, it felt like a betrayal. "Papa cannot see or speak to anyone at the moment."

"I'm sorry. If I'd known..." Murray began.

"No. That's understandable." She threw an accusing gaze at Matthew. He had to look away. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I must be going. I have other business to attend to in York. Give your father and the rest of the family my condolences." The lawyer left the room.

Mary turned to Matthew with a steely look. "My father just lost his youngest daughter. Is that enough, that he has to lose control over his estate in the same day?"

* * *

"Doesn't it concern you that he went behind your back?"

"Matthew had good intentions. That's exactly what we need, if I were ever incapacitated, he would have to make these decisions."

"Yes. It's always Matthew, Matthew, Matthew. He's the perfect child you never had. He can do no wrong. You never thought of Patrick as a son. Your youngest child has died, and it doesn't even seem to matter. Is he to take Sybil's place now as your favorite child?"

"Mary, that is quite enough. You're a grown married woman.

"You're right. I'm so sorry, Papa." She put her hand to her mouth. "It's all been too hard to process." She was losing control. She couldn't do anything for Sybil now. She wanted to take care of Matthew, but she did not know how to help him. How could she even try if he didn't allow her to?

"I know, my darling girl."

Both father and daughter embraced and wept for their losses. Wife, daughter, sister, and husband. But Matthew was not dead. It felt like he was only half living. She would try to find a way to make him feel alive again.

* * *

He was still in the library when she came looking for him.

"How long where you keeping this from me?" She asked.

"I forgot he was coming. It would have seemed awfully rude to send him away."

"I'm sure he would have understood. But that's not what I meant."

"They saw me, Mary. Everyone saw..." He could never be an Earl now. They knew how weak his mind was.

"It wasn't something you could control. You were under the influence of a drug."

"But before then...it's not very different."

"Why didn't you tell me? Have you been hiding them from me? When I hardly see you during the day..." She trails off. _That's when they happen._

"I didn't want to put more of a burden on you. The nightmares were more than enough for you to handle."

"Do you have little faith in me, that I couldn't take this on as well?" She sat down on the couch, next to him, where he had wheeled himself over. She grabbed his hand. "Can you explain it to me? How...what it feels like."

" It feels like something takes over, like I'm losing control over my mind. It feels like I'm slipping. It's seems so easy sometimes, how it would be to let it. But I can't because you won't let me."

"And rightfully so."

"But however briefly that I can, it's a relief."

"When else...the night we announced our engagement, the gun fire in the drawing room, and when that servant dropped the tray."

"It startled me is all."

"It made you feel unwell. I should have known. I'm a terrible wife. How could I not have seen?"

"My darling, you are a wonderful wife. And as you said, I was hiding it from you. I didn't want you to have to see. And you weren't my wife yet."

"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get out of it."

"See you do read me so well when you want to. Subconsciously you knew what was going on. It's like a waiting game, waiting for the ghosts to come back. Sometimes I get these flashes of memory...when I saw her, saw the blood, I went back there." _Things came back. Things I'd forgotten...like I'd forgotten about Patrick till that Patrick Gordon._ "I don't know how long it lasted. I couldn't save her."

"It didn't last for long. You were able to get help." She rested her hand on his. He wasn't to blame for this. Then why did he feel like he was? She was dead. Nothing was going to change that. They sat in silence for a while. "It will feel strange, our first Christmas without her." Sybil had been the epitome of Christmas cheer. He nods in agreement. "Clarkson will be coming later to see how you are."

* * *

"When will the gong be ringing for lunch?" Clarkson asked.

"Soon. In about an hour." Mary replied, "Why?"

"I wonder if they could ring it earlier."

"You want to intentionally trigger something?" Mary asked, questioning the doctor's judgment.

"It can't wait. This has been left untreated for so long, we need to assess this. If we know what the triggers are, we can help him cope and head towards a road to healing. "

"Wherever that road will lead. I have seen cases in the African war, but they were not severe, like Matthew's isn't." Isobel stated.

Clarkson nodded "Yes, we have to agree, he is very lucky that he's not suffering the worst form of it."

Mary did not want to ask what the worst would be, though she had a sense, that she had seen glimpses of it in Matthew, the blank stare. Some perhaps remained in there.

"Has he ever reacted when it rings?"

"We're not together when it goes off." Mary answered.

"Any other loud noises?"

"You know, you don't have to talk like I'm not here." Matthew, who had been silent, finally spoke. He sounded quite annoyed. "They don't seem to bother me anymore."

"That's good. But I would like to test it."

"To make sure I'm not trying to get out of it?"

"Why would I think that?" Clarkson frowned. Denial and paranoia were one of the symptoms accompanied with shell shock, he had come to observe. "Could I get a glass of ice water?"

Mary rung the bell. When the glass was brought up, the gong had started. Clarkson took the glass and handed it to Matthew.

"I want you to focus on the glass. Feel it. That is real."

Matthew nods. His eyes are closed tightly, his body is on edge, positioned like he is about to jump up from his chair.

"Now, I want you to put the glass to your forehead."

This is real. He doesn't know if he mutters it or says it in his head, as he puts the glass to his forehead and feels the coolness, that is almost numbing. His breathing starts to ease.

As Clarkson takes the glass away, Matthew runs his wet hand over his face. He did not want his sense of reality to go away again.

"Now I want you to picture you're still holding it. Imagine that coldness you just felt, the condensation." Clarkson observes him. "Can you feel it?"

Matthew nods, his eyes still closed, "Yes." His body seems to relax, his breathing almost level but not quite back to normal.

"You did a great job. I want you to practice the techniques I just showed you. It'd be better if you have someone to work on them with you. Try to avoid places where there might be possible triggers or that could bring back memories. Whenever you're feeling anxious, being in a place that is familiar, a place that is special to you, will help you feel more secure. But there will be times when you can't avoid it. If you're with someone, focus on their voice."

"That I can do." Mary said. Her voice had helped in one of his silent lapses, though she hadn't known it then. It had been at the award ceremony, when the had gone to visit William's grave. The nightmares had been less these past months since their marriage, almost nonexistent, maybe one or twice a week they had occurred. She predicted, with the death of Sybil, the feeling of guilt that he was responsible for her death, they would be worse or more frequent. Things would be that way for a while. The upcoming holidays would help. Christmas time was a time of cheer, of thanksgiving, and peace. It was a time to be happy. She faltered on the logic. Christmas time would never be the same again. Many soldiers who would never get another. She knows he must be thinking that, these last two Decembers past.

She couldn't think of that now. She focused on what Doctor Clarkson was saying, glancing at Matthew who wasn't really listening, but was still with them.

"...focusing on favorite pastime of his."

"He loves to read and listen to music. Or I can play a favorite record of his."

* * *

She did not kick him out of the bedroom, thinking she was still mad at him. She simply crawled into the bed next to him.

"You'd think we'd be used to young death, after for years of war." He said, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't think we'll ever get used it. If we did there'd be cause for concern. I don't think I'd be able to bear it if you did."

"I'm sorry about earlier. I forgot he was coming, and I wanted us to be prepared for the future."

"We can't. No one can be. Nothing can be certain. That's why we must never take anything for granted."

"The future of Downton."

"Not only Downton." She touched his face to get him to look at her. "Us. We must never take us for granted. We don't know what's coming."

"There's one thing I have to take for granted." She raised her head, glancing down at him, wondering what he could possibly mean. "I will love you till the last breath leaves my body."

_Me too, my darling. _She lowered her head onto his chest, closing her eyes tightly, not wanting this to last, as he put his arm around her. _Me too._

* * *

It was not long before everyone knew what happened to Thomas. Matthew was not happy about it. She had done most of the arguing about it. He didn't want to fight her on this and left the house for a while. When he came back it was as if it were the only thing they could talk about.

"This isn't who you are. Revenge is not a path you want to go down. You just find yourself in deeper, you dig yourself a hole you can't get out of."

"Why are you so concerned about it?"

"It wasn't his fault. I went to him. I knew he had...connections..."

"You could get in serious trouble."

"I know. That's why I wish you should have come to me."

"Didn't you think about it? Did you not care what happened to you? When you took those pills?"

"No. And it wasn't pills. I barely drank much of it. I thought it would help." He stopped a moment to think, before telling her. "I went to see him."

"See who? Thomas?"

"I had the charges dropped."

"How..."

"I am a lawyer. I know my way around things. I took it from him willingly. He didn't force me."

"What did you say to him?"

"That I didn't blame him. That you were in the wrong and you were only doing what you thought was right, protecting me."

"He's not coming back here?"

"I'll have your father put in a reference for him. He doesn't need to know about this."

"What else didn't you blame him for?"

"What do you mean?"

"It seems deeper than that. What lengths you went to clear him. I suppose it's because you served in the war together."

Matthew's shoulders slumped.

"When you were having that dream, you said to Thomas, though I know it wasn't really him you were speaking to, you told somebody not to leave you."

"We were sent out there, the three of us. Patrick and I..." It still hurt to talk about him, even think about him. "I asked the third man to cover us, my gun wasn't working, and he just ran. He left us there."

"Do you know who the man was? What he looked like?"

He shook his head. "It's still a bit fuzzy."

"After all this time?" She didn't believe him. She was asking but she already knew who he was protecting, because he had seen so much death. Her honorable and humble Matthew, sometimes she thought she didn't deserve him.

"There are many things I chose to forget." She looked at him with watery eyes. "Let us please move on from this?" He begged. "We're stronger than this."

She agreed. She didn't have to say a word, just accepted it because, this was his secret, Pamuk had been hers. Her new secret was how painful it was to love him, and yet how painful it would be to live in a world where he didn't exist. Both their demons and their pain that they try to hide, they must carry it with them always. It was the hurt and the pain that made you who you were. Looking back on it, and how you let it affect you, and how you chose to act, was up to you. Your choice to rise above it and say, I survived. It was so much stronger than and made you prepared for love. So you could love and live again.

* * *

"We'll stay in here and wait for the gong. We'll try it without a glass of water this time. I want you to try and focus on my voice instead."

He nodded. He already feels himself slipping.

As it goes off, he is sitting ridged. She sees his expression go blank.

"Matthew." She says softly, "it's alright. You're here. You're home with me. I'm right here."

He relaxes but his expression remains unchanged.

She sighs and goes over to the gramophone. She puts on the record, then goes over to him and places her hand on his shoulder. He does not respond.

Feeling rather hopeless, she goes back over to the gramophone, lifting the needle.

"Leave it." His voice is sharp, it makes her stiffen, though she is relieved. She went back over to him.

He stares at her. His bright blue eyes coming to life again. "Could I have something brought up? I'm starving."

"Of course."

She stayed in the drawing room with him as he ate in silence.

She asked him, what it was about the loud noises, why he thought the gong in particular affected him. She thought he wasn't going to answer.

When he finished eating, he spoke,

"They'd ring the gong for those who'd fallen after a battle. They'd ring it the same to call the men to the mess hall. Men would fight over rations, over who got the better ones, fighting over the bloody bodies." _that littered the ground, trampling over them._ _Enemy or not, it didn't matter. They were all litter in the end. In their wrappers, their uniforms, tattered uniforms and body parts._ He'd seen men ripped apart by shells. One man had been talking to him about shoes. Shoes of all things when he...

"Oh, Matthew."

"Please, I don't need your pity."

"Pity? Is that what you think I feel for you? Yes, you deserve pity. Because it isn't fair that this happened to you. But there are others who are far worse off. Nothing and no one had been untouched by this war. But you are alive. I'm not going to sit here and watch you wallow in your self-pity. William wouldn't have wanted you to."

"Yes. William. It would be an insult to his memory. I already know that. It wasn't fair how he died either." He said softly. "There were many ways to die by a shell. Paralyzed by a blast, struggling to breath in the end." He hadn't seen William's suffering, but a young lad just like him, had died that way. The blast had broken his back in a place that paralyzed his breathing. "It would have been preferable to be blown to bits."

"I won't ask about it again." And she'd keep her word. He had said the last sentences cheerfully, as if he was telling a joke. That scared Mary more than the blank stares.

"I don't prefer that for myself. Since my miraculous recovery, I'd been given a second chance. A good way to honor William." He picks up his cup of tea, "To William."

She raises her own cup with him, "To William."

If he still thinks and feels this way about the war, he thinks to himself, as if it still were only yesterday, after two years, how will he get any better?

He will try for William. For her.

* * *

_February 1921_

It was Granny's eight-first birthday. She had requested a dinner party, nothing to extravagant. "I had far too much excitement for my age."

She had just gotten over being ill and Robert was worried about her, if she'd be able to make it up to the house. She still looked a bit weak.

"And don't worry, I shall make it to a hundred, Robert."

He didn't doubt it. She had a strong will made of iron and was made out of even stronger stuff.

Mary did not say much during the dinner, hardly touching anything. Matthew could not take his eyes off her. She looked nauseated after each little bite.

She tried to avoid looking at her husband. She put her hand under the table, to her stomach, to advert more wanted attention, till she couldn't take it anymore.

She could practically feel the food in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Granny, may I be excused? I don't mean to be a spoiled sport but I'm feeling a bit under the weather.

"Of course. No, go." She looked at her granddaughter with worry. Hoping she wasn't catching what she had just gotten over.

"I'll escort Mary upstairs." Matthew said. "Robert, cousin Violet, if you'll both excuse me."

"You haven't been quite yourself since New Year's Eve, darling. Do you think you're coming down with something." He asked as she lied down in the bed. He drew the covers over her.

"Not really. I've been eating too many rich foods, but I don't think it's the food either."

"Tell me, darling, what is it? You're not ill?"

"Would I have let you assist me if I were?" She paused for a moment. "I've been eating far too many rich foods lately. But I don't think it's that either." He looked at her curiously. She had to keep herself from laughing and decided it was not fair to keep him in suspense. For a lawyer he could be so clueless sometimes. "I'm pregnant."

He looked flabbergasted. "I'm going to be a father?" He sat down, gently on the bed next to her.

"Yes, darling, I'm sure that's how it works." She rolled her eyes at him, trying not to laugh again. She gazed intently at his face so she could read him.

"We're going to have a baby!" His blue eyes lit up, brighter than they had on their wedding day.

Anna entered the room. "I didn't mean to interrupt milady. Mr. Matthew. I came up to see if there was anything that I could get you." She glanced between the two of them. "There's been some good news I take it?"

"It's the most brilliant news. Most wonderful Anna." He hugged her and she looked surprised. "Should I tell her, or should you tell her?" Mary gave him a look that said, go ahead. "Pretty soon..." Matthew took a pause for a dramatic effect, we're going to have us a little prince!"

"Or princess." Mary added.

"That is most wonderful!" Anna was laughing, nearly crying with joy. "Very wonderful indeed!"

"Only you and Mr. Matthew are to know."

Anna soon left to give them some privacy.

"How far along are you? Have you been to a doctor?"

"At least two months, and yes. He confirmed what I'd already guessed."

"Should I telephone Doctor Clarkson?"

"I'm alright now. I just have to cut back on the rich foods. Anyway, if Doctor Clarkson comes to examine me, the whole world will know that I'm pregnant with your child."

Matthew bit his lip, trying not to laugh, it came out a bit raspy. He held her hand and glanced up at her, teary eyed.

"Well, they certainly don't think we've been up here playing tidily winks. Most people in this house know what goes on between a husband and wife." He lied back, and she settled herself down beside him, running her hand through his hair, smoothing it at his temple.

He groaned, but then caught her wrist. "You're going to have to cut back on that as well."

"Not a chance. I talked to the doctor about that. It's completely safe."

Desire filled his eyes as he stared at her. So perfect. He kissed every inch of her face. She rolled off him after they finished making love. It was so wonderful, so precious, it made Mary weep, suspended in a blissful high, until it all came back to her. She felt utterly livid. Her sister was dead, and here they were, having enjoyed each other bodies. Taking pleasure, and being happy, while they should be grieving, it felt as if it was a cardinal sin and yet at the same time, she felt their bond was strengthened by this intimacy.

"Shouldn't it feel bad to feel like this? Does this make us bad people?" Mary asked, looking up at him as she lie curled by his side, her head on his chest.

"No." He said, pulling her closer to him. "Where there's life, there's hope." He kissed the top of her head.

The joy that comes with the news of soon becoming a father quickly fades, replaced by fear. He tries to hide it but she knows it's there. She knows he's thinking about Sybil.

Sybie was Christened in April, the week before Easter Sunday, which by then Mary was four months pregnant. Tom wanted her to be Catholic, much to Robert's strong disapproval, that the Crawley's have always been part of the English Church. Matthew had told them that Sybil had wanted her to be Catholic.

"Really?" This from Mary. She thought she had known her sister. Though she felt that she should honor her wish.

The spring season soon dissolved into the sweltering days of summer. Granny's niece, Susan, had invited her to spend the rest of it with them in Scotland and that she could bring the family. Matthew was concerned whether or not that they should go.

He had offhandedly stated that he wanted her to have the baby at the hospital in the village, rather than at home. It was out of fear of what happened to Sybil, though he would not say.

"Utter nonsense." Robert had protested. "Crawley's have been born at Downton for over two hundred years!"

Matthew reminded Robert about Sybil, it had come out harshly and Robert had almost struck him, if Tom hadn't intervened. Matthew lost his balance as he moved away from Robert, as Tom stepped in between them, arms outstretched, holding them off. Tom had caught him, knocking into a pillar with a vase. It shattered as it hit the floor. Granny told them not to worry about it, that it had been a wedding gift from her frightful mother in-law, that had been haunting her for more than half a century. She was glad to be rid of it.

"Shrimpie's got the best doctor's in Scotland, and the best hospital if it comes to that." Mary said to him that night in bed, which I'm certain, it won't."

"Darling, nothing can ever be certain. Haven't we learned that by now?"

"Dr. Clarkson recommended it'll be good for my health. I need the fresh air. Besides, I think it would do some good for you too."

* * *

His nerves were eating away at him, ever since they left the train station. He wished he could have a cigar. Anna, Bates and Carson, would be going with them. Bates would act as Matthew's valet, while Carson acted as Roberts.

In the last four months he rarely had a nightmare, maybe once every few weeks and no loud noises were setting him off anymore. This is the happiest and normal they'd been for a while. They stole smiles and glances at each other as the train rumbled down the tracks.

He was relieved but tired out once they arrived. He would have to explore the house later, get familiar with the layout so that he could walk around using his stick instead of his chair.

Mary was worried when the men were going to go out hunting. Matthew wouldn't be joining them of course. It wasn't because of the fear it would trigger anything, he felt he had more control over it, finally. The uneven ground would prove a problem and he couldn't stand or walk for long periods. They would go out for a picnic in a few days (where the surface was flatter) by the river, and he could fish. If he still could. He could sit in his chair, catch a nice breeze. While they were hunting, he'd decided to go and find the library to get some peace and quiet.

The silence was broken, as the gunfire rang out. He knew they were going out to hunt but something in him...the guns exploding...

A flash of memory. The green terrain of the Scottish land turned to grass-less muddy fields. A spark from a gun.

He pressed the palm of his hands to his eyes.

More gun fire.

Bloody and muddy bodies, strewn about like broken toys. The mud concealed most of the gore, thank goodness for that.

He was back at the Somme. In France.

The man next to him called out in pain before he expired, but still he carelessly lifted the man up, over his shoulders in a firemen's carry, carrying him back across no man's land.

* * *

"Mr. Downtrodden?" Rose said in a sing-song voice as she approached the room, she thought she saw him go up here. What would he be doing in the maid's attic? Nobody had been in here since they had let her go.

"No. No, go away."

She thought she heard it, faintly.

He was sitting in the corner near the window that looked out to the fields. Her father and the men visible in the distance.

He had his knees drawn up to his chest, visibly shaken.

"Don't make a noise. If they don't hear us, they'll stop shooting at us." His mind was half here and half there. They wouldn't be able to see them from this vantage point.

"No one's shooting at us. They're hunting...oh of course." She kneels down in front of him, you were in the war." Why wouldn't he not have been?

He started to sit up, becoming aware. "I was..."

She stood up and motioned to him, putting her hands out in front of her, not knowing exactly for what, to stay where he was? She found herself a bit afraid. She had only met him once at the wedding and spoke to him a few times during this visit. He seems rather nice. "Do you need anything? Should I get someone or...?" She looked toward the door.

"No." It was a rushed, no, then a bit gentler "no."

He seemed more afraid of her than of him. How strange. "I'll just stay with you then."

"Please..." His blue eyes begged._ Please, what?_ He wanted her to stay with him. If she stayed, perhaps he wouldn't go back.

"Rose." The young girl turned her head to the sound of her mother's voice, calling from somewhere downstairs. She felt him grab her hand.

"Please. Don't tell anyone." His voice croaked in his throat.

"Rose." Her mother called again.

"I'll tell you what, I'll distract her and when the coast is clear, I'll come back and get you."

* * *

Mary was suspicious of Michael Gregson coincidently being in Scotland. Shrimpie had invited him for the morning's hunt and to dinner later that evening. Matthew had asked to him to accompany him fishing in order to get to know him. Edith has spoken fondly of her editor to him and if this man was serious about perusing a relationship, he had to see what type of man he was. And put Mary's suspicion to rest.

After he was done fishing with Gregson, Matthew asked the servant, that was assisting them, to take his chair back up to the house. "I'm going to take a short walk with my friend here."

"Don't you need it?" Gregson asked.

"I have my stick. And we won't be long. Though I'll have to lean against you for support." Gregson was a little uncertain but was happy to oblige when he added, just hold out your arm." The two men navigated around the uneven ground; Gregson's arm linked with his. "I don't normally need to, only since we're on unfamiliar terrain. Unlevel at that, one wrong step..."

"Reminds me of being back in the trenches." Gregson said, a bit jokingly.

Matthew waits for the words to trigger something, but it doesn't. Nothing happened when Gregson had mentioned his wife's brothers that died in the war. So why would it now? He had confessed to Matthew that he was married and that his wife was in an asylum. The death of both her brothers had disturbed her. She had always been fragile. That still didn't make it right to Matthew. Mary would never leave him or be unfaithful if he ever wounded up in one of those places. He was fortunate to never had that happen thus far. _It never will. And mother would certainly not allow it to happen neither would Mary to begin with._

"I gather you didn't bring me out here to talk about the good old days."

"I agree that your position is tragic. I'm very sorry. But you can't imagine I would let Edith slide into sandal without lifting a finger to stop it."

"Will you tell Lord Grantham?"

"I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Are you saying that I should leave now, not stay for the ball?"

"No. Use it to say a proper goodbye. You owe her that."

* * *

Matthew came down to dinner in his wheelchair. Mary was worried, as was her father. He could navigate the house without it, now that he was familiar and knew where there were places he could sit and rest. Maybe the long hallways had worn him out. They did at Downton but Duneagle wasn't even half the size. _It doesn't matter the size. _She didn't want to bring it up at the dinner table. It was a sensitive subject to talk about, even in public, that even meant family. Her father voiced his concern in a discrete way.

"Are you doing alright, Matthew?" Robert asked.

"Quite. I went for a walk with Gregson earlier. I'm afraid I tired myself out."

Mary knew he wasn't telling the whole truth.

When he finished, he dismissed himself, "I'm terribly sorry, if I could excuse myself, I'm feeling extremely exhausted."

"Not at all." Rose's mother, Susan said. "Do you need any help?"

"Bates will see to him." Mary said.

"How often does he need the wheelchair?" asked Shrimpie, curious, after he watched Matthew wheel out.

"Just when he's tired like today, or for when he travels or when he goes out." Mary said, smiling as if it was something normal to talk about. She had wanted to avoid this. It was difficult enough for Matthew to explain. She hated it as much as he did, trying to explain it, that he wasn't useless.

"He walked around the grounds with no problem." This was from Susan. Rose avoided looking at her parents, pushing her food around on her plate.

"He has his good days. Lots of good ones." _Just when he's under a lot of strain, he has bad days, or the weather. _And it wasn't the latter. Something had set him off and he was trying desperately to hide it.

Her father, uncharacteristically, came to Matthew's defense. "Mind we dismiss the elephant in the room." He was becoming a bit agitated. "He did his duty for his country and paid for it. Let's leave it at that." Mary couldn't stop her smile.

Bates came down moments later. Mary had just left the dinner table and he had just caught her. "Mr. Matthew says he would like a bath drawn before he turns in." He said.

"I'll run it for him." Mary said, having detected his concern in his voice.

She ran the water for him. He managed to get into the tub by himself. She wanted to wash him, imagined taking a wet cloth and massaging it all over his body. Heat flushed through her. It still amazed her that she could feel this while she was heavily pregnant with child. Her need of desire and intimacy with her husband seemed to have increased. The desire shattered, when he said he would like to be alone.

It seemed to be the opposite with him, that he was turned off, unattracted to her pregnant body, apart from the kissing and gentle touches to her abdomen. He wouldn't touch her more intimately than that. He had been attracted in the early stages. Her mother had told her what women went through after childbirth, especially after their first. Your feet got wider, you put on a little bit more weight. He would still love her, she had no doubt, Matthew didn't care what she looked like, and vise versa, at least he never used to be a vein person, even toward himself. A lot of things had changed. The words 'used to" applied to many things when it came Matthew. _He has a lot on his mind and he's just worried what it would do to the baby._ She told herself.

He was in there an awful long time. The water would be cold by now.

She knocked on the door but got no response. She felt her heart start to beat faster. _What am I doing? I'm his wife._ She walked right in.

He had his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep but it looked as if he was dead. His face was pale white, gaunt like. It had become narrow. He missed the softness of his face, that round cherub face. The softness was nowhere to be found, even in his rest. She sat at the edge of the tub. His head tilted to one side; she noticed a few grey hairs at his temple.

"Matthew."

At his name he jumped slightly. His eyes were blank for a moment, filled with confusion. She wondered if he thought he was 'back there' again or had just forgotten where he was, like you did sometimes after waking up after a long rest.

"We're at Duneagle. " His eyes still stared, unfocused. "You fell asleep in the bath." She said, afraid for his sanity.

He finally blinked and then rubbed his eyes, getting in a position to stand. She moved to help him out, but he gripped the rim and was able to pull himself up. She had to assist him stepping out of the tub.

He leaned on her while she helped dry him off. He dried his lower half while she dried his shoulders and back and head. Wrapping the towel around his waist, she helped him into his chair and wheeled him into the bedroom by the fire.

"I'll have Bates come in and help you get dressed."

"No. I can do it myself. Or better yet, I can just sleep naked."

She quirked an eyebrow at him and he smiled. A flicker of her Matthew. It was like after a long sleep he came back again, like a bear waking from hibernation.

"Sit by the fire for a while, you were lying in cold water for a bit too long. Besides, you can't go to bed with wet hair. I don't want you to catch a cold."

"Spoiled sport."

She stayed up with him, reading. It would be all she would be doing in the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Better start practicing now. She hadn't been one for reading books before she married Matthew. He was reading as well. She noticed ten minutes had passed and he hadn't turned the page. He wasn't reading at all, or really looking at the page. What was he thinking about? It was concerning to her.

"Did anything happen today?"

"I just tired myself out." He didn't look up from the page.

"Something happened." She knew something had happened in the bath too. Earlier something had set him off, for him to be using his chair. He had an episode and she wasn't there, was all she could think. Perhaps two. One in the bath but it had been a silent one.

He looked at her and licked his lips. He knew there was no point in hiding it. He set the book aside on the desk, turning his gaze back to Mary.

"When they were shooting. I know it wasn't really happening, that I wasn't really there. But I was there." She knew what he was talking about without saying. He thought he'd been back, in the war, though a part of his mind rationally knew he hadn't been. He at least had explained that to her. "Rose saw me. She...brought me out of it."

"I'll have to thank her for that. She's very brave." She saw his eyes wonder off, not really looking at her.

"I haven't...in a long time Mary, since Sybil." His voice was soft and low, a hint of shame. He shouldn't feel ashamed over something which he had no control. And disappointment. He had wanted to get better.

"I know." There was worry and exhaustion in her voice, wondering how many steps back they had taken, if she could find the strength to go through it all again. She must.

"I thought I'd be alright." He had thought he had it under control. He felt it slowly slipping from him. It took everything not to fall apart right now.

"I did too. I should have put my foot down with Papa."

"We can't predict these things." It was a profound statement, a harsh fact in his head, though he said it reassuringly for her own benefit. She wasn't to blame. They will happen and would continue to happen, no matter how long the gaps were. He was beginning to come to this realisation, that there is no helping him. He looked away from her. He wanted to look at anywhere else but Mary for fear she'd see how much he was struggling, losing this mental battle. How easy the temptation would be to slip his mind away, back into nothingness. He couldn't do that to her. He just wanted it all to stop. What was there to stop? He'd probably be like this the rest of his life and there was nothing anyone could do for him.

"Should we inform Doctor Clarkson when we get back?"

"No. I doubt he can do any more for me than he has. I was grateful that Rose was there. I don't know what I would've done. Though I think I've frightened her terribly."

"She's resilient. I think she's undoubtedly smitten, so you better watch out. Apparently knights in distress is her thing."

Two episodes in one day. Though he wouldn't really count what happened in the bath as one. It was a feeling. A feeling of coldness, being suspended from his body. He had suddenly recalled lying in the mud, William lying on top of him. How could he have seen that unless he had died? Had he been feeling what his unconscious self had been feeling, lying in the mud, blasted back by a shell, somewhere between death and dying? No. Surely, the coldness had just been the cold water in the tub. But the other sensation he had felt, was he remembering, how it was to die? _Matthew the zombie. Back from the dead_. What a terrifying thought. Was that why he was like this? That he felt like he didn't belong? He had been denied peace. But his soul had not left the earth. It had been dragged back to his broken body. _For what purpose?_ He was questioning again. Why was he spared?

He had his eyes closed now, pinching the bridge of his nose. Regaining his composure, he exhaled, and straightened up in his chair. "How does the rest of the family think of the prestigious heir?"

"They all think rather highly of you. After all, who wouldn't?" Mary said pleased, as if it were some sort of accomplishment.

"I see the way they look at me, Mary. Their whole demeanor changes. Able-bodied people genuinely can't imagine what it's like to use a wheelchair." _I didn't choose to need one and I'm pretty sure with all my pain I have earned the right to use one. _He used to think they were for old or sick people, before the war. Other people apparently still thought that way. He constantly got asked, which is why he barely went out on days he needed it, why he was truly hesitant to go on this trip,

Were you in an accident? What happened? Were you in the war? You don't look disabled. (He was too pretty. He was told by a woman once. _Most soldiers in wheelchairs also had their faces badly damage or disfigured,_ he supposed_. Yes, pretty people can be disabled, too! I didn't realize only unattractive people could be disabled. That assumption is rude_. He had said to her, wheeling away from her, leaving her gobsmacked.) To have them think he didn't need a wheelchair because he didn't appear as wounded as most soldiers, hadn't been through what they had suffered through, that was the worst, the disgusted looks because of it, more so than being overlooked. A_ll from people I have never seen before and will never see again._ _They can't possibly imagine what suffering I went through. Just because one's injures might not be immediately apparent._ _All of our wounds are not on the outside._

"You are able-bodied. Some of the time. It'll get easier. Over time..."

"It's not going to get easier. I'm not going to get any better than this. " He motioned to his legs. It could get worse over time, for all they knew. He didn't want her to get her hopes up. He was somewhat accepting of his predicament now. He could never be the 'perfect image" she had of him, in her mind, the man he had been. He would never walk normally again. Didn't she understand that? He couldn't be a proper husband and father. But he deserved to be happy, didn't he? It didn't mean he'd have to be his old 'cheerful' self gain.

"You can't be all mopey like this all the time. How will you be like when the baby comes?"

"I don't know how good I'll be as a father." He had been having doubts. He had first chalked it up as typical reaction of a first-time father. But now he'd never live up to the man he ought to be for his wife and children. A man who is expected to protect them.

"Well, it's far too late to worry about that now." She teased, her hands resting on her stomach. She was still months away. She was trying to get him to smile. He didn't.

"What kind of father can I be? If they were ever in danger...I can't run anymore. What if I can't get to them in time if they put something in their mouth, or if they were to fall?"

"You were able to get help for Sybil in time..."

"I killed your sister because my legs wouldn't work." His tone went dark, filled with anger. But he wasn't angry with her. It was towards himself. Hatred. Self-loathing. Mary recognised it.

"I suppose you think you killed my mother, and William and Patrick as well?" She saw his face sour and she stopped herself. She had brought up one of deepest painful memories and she instantly regretted it. "Darling, all of that was a very long time ago..." She said in a soft voice.

"Not for me."_ It will never be over for me._ "I'll always be like this." The man she loved; he wasn't him. He felt like an impostor, only half living. "Our children...will always remember me this way, a partially paralyzed mess of a man who...who falls apart at the slightest noise. I can't even feel below my waist. I can never get that back. I won't feel my own child on my lap...feel you. I won't be able to play with them properly." Would they even be able to take him seriously? If his injury worsened over time with age he'd be confined to his wheelchair. They wanted to ask questions at dinner but ignored him instead. It was as if, when they saw him using his chair, he was a different person and they didn't know how to talk to him. Like when it was first believed he would not be able to walk at all. He didn't want to feel like this anymore. He didn't want to feel that way, with his children. He couldn't bare it if they ever were to look upon him like that.

"We'll manage." She simply said to him. She was dodging around things, like everyone else. "And we will teach our children to love..."

"To love people like me?" It was almost laughable, just hearing it. _No one really respects you when you're in a chair, or even have a limp and have to walk with a stick_.

She nodded. "Yes."

They would love him out of sympathy. Their love wouldn't be real. He never thought about that. "I don't feel...pain down there. And when you tell people that they look at you like you're less than human and you don't have feelings. They'll learn it from someone else."

"Then we'll tell them those people are wrong."

"Are they?" Sometimes he didn't have any feelings at all, not just no feeling in his legs. He wanted to be happy. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd do anything. Anything to feel. "Do you want to know how much I can feel? What it even feels like to be me? Pinch me."

"I'm not going to pinch you."

"Then kick me, then. Go on."

"I'm not going to do that either."

"Come here." He put out his hand to her.

She hesitated before she went over to him. He took her hands and placed them on his lap. He imagines the warmth of her fingers. "I can't feel it." He said it ashamedly and with desperation. "I can't feel you." He said softly.

She squeezed his hands, "You can feel this." Then she kissed him, deeply. He seemed to sink into it but it didn't last. It was over too soon.

"I'm sorry." He appologise, pulling away from her. "I know I've been thinking irrationally and I'm being a bit harsh. I don't mean it. I'm just...hurting."

"I know."

"The war changed me, Mary. What I saw, what I did, I'm made different by it. I've been made colder."

"No. It's made you more kind." She couldn't explain it. He looked up at her in awe. "And I think...I like to think that it changed me too."

He reached up. She thought he was going to take her hand and hold it, but instead took it away. "I can never be your Matthew Crawley, not completely." He wasn't complete, even with his wife, and the upcoming birth of his child. His first child.

"I still see him. He's still here." She had seen flickers of him and they had been becoming increasingly frequent. That gave her a ray of hope. She doesn't believe him when he says,

"I only pretend. And it hurts. I don't know how to be him anymore."

"We'll find him. We'll bring him back." She holds his face in her hands. She feels him nodding.

* * *

During the dance that weekend, Mary wanted so badly to join in. Matthew was a spoiled sport and she missed out on most of the excitement. Matthew danced with Rose instead. Mary found herself a bit jealous. She was looking at him the way Sybil used to when she had a crush on him. It would soon wear off. Mary thought.

"Don't you need your stick?" Rose asked him.

"You are my stick." He felt himself flush. Why did he say that? Now she would get the wrong idea. The most he could do was sway back and forth. But at least he could dance.

"Looks like Mr. Matthew's having fun." Anna said to Mary as she came over to where she was sitting. She had just been dancing with Bates. She was nearly out of breath, her face pink.

"And I can say the same for you!"

"It was Rose's idea. She taught me how to dance, a surprise for Mr. Bates"

"Wish I could have brushed up on mine. I'm stuck sitting in a corner and he's out there having a grand old time and he's no worse for wears than I am."

Anna slightly frowned. "What do you mean by that mi'lady?" She had witnessed one of his episodes on the night Sybil died, how she had seen him on the stairs, unresponsive. She hadn't mentioned it to Mary, not even her own husband.

"Nothing, Anna. Nothing at all." She sighed at the party goers who were having far too much fun. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I joined in a little." As soon as she stood, she began to feel uncomfortable from the symptoms of the pregnancy, "On second thought, he was probably right after all on that matter. He usually always is. Though you know how I don't care to admit."

She dismissed herself to bed and Anna offered to help turn down the bed for her. "C'mon, mi'lady. I'll help you get settled."

Robert sat down with Shrimpie once everyone had gone to bed.

"What do you mean there's nothing left?"

"I was too stuck in the ways of the past. The investments drying up. We're going to have to sell. We haven't told Rose yet. It will be devastating for her."

* * *

Mary offered to help Tom and Matthew with the estate, once they were back home.

"It was Mary who truly saved us." Tom said.

"When I was twelve, I took an oath to protect the Crawley's." She said, "Loyalty binds me."

"Loyalty binds me." Robert looked thankful for his daughter.

"This wonderful news and Mary's great generosity call for a celebration." Matthew announced, "I think we should pop open a bottle of champagne and toast to our brilliant girl."

She found Matthew still in the dining room, hours later, smoking a cigar.

"You know I don't like how much you smoke those things." She said with annoyance. It had to be a different one.

"Not often, dear." He had started smoking in the army. It had helped calm his nerves, helped him focus, even more so now. He had since then moved on to cigars, taking one and a cognac with Robert after their meals. Robert occasionally would take to a cigar.

"Four times a day. I swear you're like a chimney. You smoke one after breakfast, one after tea, then after dinner and one before bed."

"Not after tea." He said, smugly.

She went over and kissed him on the cheek.

"What? I don't get a proper one?"

"I'm not going to give you one until you put that out, and after teeth are brushed." She hated the smell of them.

"Oh, alright." He stubbed it out. "I'm still going to stay up and celebrate. For a while longer."

She put her arms around his shoulders, giving him a hug. "Come to bed soon."

* * *

**Author's Note: This chapter is the longest. I had trouble editing it just to make it right. And still no baby but hopefully in the next chapter? The last scene might have a significance later on in the time line, a bit foreshadowing of the problems to come. I'll let the readers decide. Regardless of no baby Crawley, I'm very happy how this turned out.**


	5. Her Matthew: His Mary

Chapter Five

Description: Matthew feels it's his duty to help others, including his family, not just Downton. Between keeping Rose and Edith out of trouble, he doesn't have time to think how it can put him in harm's way.

* * *

After the summer holidays were over, Rose was sent to stay at Downton, for her increasing 'unlady like' behavior. _First mummy didn't approve of her dress, second criticked over every thing I do, even slouching. _She had embarrassed her in from of the family members. She did care what they thought of her, especially The Defender of the Downtrodden.

The first thing she wanted to do when she arrived was to go horse riding. Mary showed her to the stables. She missed the horses they had to sell back home.

"Be careful of Conqueror. He likes to be stubborn." Mary cautioned her, more teasingly. Conqueror named after William the Conqueror, had been Sybil's horse.

After she went back up to the house, Rose decided to take Conquer out of the stables. They had seemed to hit it off right at the start. She walked him for but when out of nowhere, he pulled on the rope and she fell down in the mud. He nickered at her as if he was laughing at her.

She walked him back to his stall.

"Mud is a becoming look on you."

She turned, surprised to see Matthew. "Oh."

He smiled but the smile did not reach his eyes. It sill made her slightly frightened.

"Conquer decided to pull me down on a slippery patch." With nothing else came to her head, she added, I absolutely love horses, don't you?"

"I think they're far too skittish." He had always though horses as massive and unpredictable.

"You have to understand them first."

"When I first came here Mary asked if I liked to ride. I boldly lied and said that I did. When she went out riding, I chickened out. Good thing too. I would have made a fool of myself, and she had avoided the rest of her party to accompany a certain striking Turkish Diplomat. I can't say I would've had much fun."

"Men often lie to impress a girl. You wouldn't be the first." She looked at his face, which now wore a puzzled expression. "Are you alright out here?"

"I'll be fine. As long as I don't stay too long or stray too far from the house."

She couldn't continue looking at him. She was never embarrassed in front of grown-ups. Maybe it was the fact she was covered in mud. There was something about Matthew Crawley. He spoke to her as if she was an equal, not a child. She blurted out, "It's my birthday the nineteenth. I'll be eighteen. Cousin Robert and Great Auntie Violet are throwing me a coming out party. "

"Should one say congratulations? I believe eighteen is a milestone." He recalled turning eighteen himself. It had been a very big deal for him. He had saved enough to go away to university but was not able to actually go till he was twenty. If only women were given such opportunities. He imagined someone like Sybil would have wanted to go. Gone too soon before her time, like thousands of souls before her, in a senseless war. It had claimed it's victims, young and old, not all of whom were soldiers. He was one of it's victims. He couldn't help save her. There was nothing he could have done, he had come to terms with that now. But to die so young, Sweet Sybil. "Although, I'm still not very knowledgeable when it comes to such things, I never really understood the point. Are you looking forward to it?"

"Parading a young girl through a room full of men is barbaric. It's done to control us, to find us a husband to tie us down with so we stay out of trouble."

"And you don't want a husband?"

"Maybe. One day."

"Sybil had a bit of a rebellious streak like you. She had me dance with her at her party to make the poor chaps jealous.'

"Could you at mine? Not when I'm presented, although...at my birthday party I mean. You're such a great dancer. Not to make anyone jealous just to keep them away."

"I'll keep the unscrupulous men away from you."

"And the unscrupulous dirty old men."

They walked back to the house together. It was nice to talk with someone that didn't really know him, that didn't know him before the war.

* * *

Rose wanted to go up to London but much to her distaste, she would be chaperoned under Cousin Rosemund and Edith.

Edith was desperate for back up, believing she and her Aunt wouldn't be enough to keep her under control.

Rose could be a handful. Mary opted out, even if she wasn't pregnant, she wouldn't go. Mary was mostly taken to her bed now that she was closer to nine months. It was the end of August.

Matthew volunteered to help out. They stayed at Rosemund's house in London. During their dinner, the driver entered, informing them that he dropped Rose off but she hadn't gone where she said she was going. She had gone to a club.

Rose was flinging herself at a married man. Matthew took her away from him while Rosemund and Edith sat down to talk to the man.

"Excuse me, can I have this dance?" He pulled her up and lead her out on the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" Rose protested.

"Sparing you the shame and humiliation."

"Why would you do that? You barely know me. Ah, of course I came to your rescue, it's only fair you come to mine."

"You're family."

_Sure._ She thought in her head. "I still have a crush on you, you know."

"Also married. And with a child on the way."

"Since when did that ever stop anyone? People in France..."

"We're not in France." His voice showed a lot of disdain for the country.

It was a beautiful place, from what she had heard. Surely still parts of it were beautiful, untouched by the war. She says this to him but he remains quiet. Then she thought, that was probably where he went, when she had seen him in the attic. Why, she could be so impulsive sometimes and not even think, she hated it. His disdain was not the country in general, but for all the lives that had been taken, so many had fallen there.

He doesn't ever want to go back, he is forced sometimes in his dreams and waking hours. It was a country with blood on it's hands, a place where he had split blood, blood on his hands. He tries not to think about it.

Her voice and the mention of his wife, lures him back.

"Mary says you're a creature of duty."

"Not always."

"Marriage is your Christian duty?"

"Yes." He wondered if he deserved to call himself one or deserve HIS mercy. He wouldn't be plagued so terribly, though the had subsided since Duneagle.

He was a bit of a prude, she thought all religious people were, although his charm and the air about him, made it tolerable. He was polite and proper but she felt that sometimes he took being proper to an exaggerated or ridiculous degree. She wished she could find a way for him to lighten up. She'd been told to be weary of overly polite people, there was usually something wrong with them or had something to hide. She knew what he had to hide, a certain darkness.

He was off limits, a challenge. She liked challenges. It would also disgrace her mother, even associating with a cripple, her mother's words. She did not say them exactly but she knew her mother would think it. Rose did genuinely had a liking for him. Crippled in body, not spirit. Some would say. He did have a mind, a brilliant one, he was not letting to go to waste. There's a kind of mystique about older men, his prowess, and confidence, she was amazed he still had that despite his circumstances. She found that flattering and he was trying not to be. He was trying to protect her and she was being frivolous at best.

"I don't doubt for what you feel for him is real." Rose raised an eyebrow at him, now intrigued and curious. "but I suppose he's told you he's had an unhappy marriage."

Immediately she dropped the frivolousness. "Yes. He does. Travis travels a lot and well it's not a very intimate one."

"That's what they all say, be it a man or a woman, it's the same old story and has for centuries, probably even longer. Has he ever mentioned a divorce?"

"In fact he has." Rose angled her chin upwards in confidence. "We've discussed it."

"When?"

She couldn't answer him.

* * *

_18 September 1921_

He had gotten back rather late from Rose's party. He had difficulty getting away from her. It was hard when you couldn't run, your mobility limited. It was hard not to notice someone in a wheelchair. She had tired him out with the dancing and unable to shake her. She stayed by his side all night, though it was more to do with her not wanting to be perused. When his tiredness didn't work, he used the pregnant wife excuse, that he was worried about her and he should check on her. Mary would not let him live that down. That had finally worked, and he truly was tired, so he had headed up to bed.

"Rose keep you busy?" Mary was still up, reading.

"What?" He thought for a split second that she was throwing an accusation at him. But that was ridiculous. Mary knows that he would never stray, and with a girl not even half his age. She had done nothing more than give him a respectable kiss on the cheek. Her fascination with him would pass, as her attention had gone to that married man, it would be no time before she set her sights on someone else that would riffle her mother. A rebellious stage he knows all too well, though he never perused endless trails of women, he had been defiant in his parents choice of career for him. He had been awkward around girls in his teenage years and even into his twenties. With Mary it all came easy. Everything came easy with her. His Mary. He was still struggling with weather he could continue on with this facade, being her Matthew.

"It's past eleven and you have to go to the office in the morning." The office only meant downstairs in the library.

"I had to wait for a chance to sneak away." He said with a smile, a bit mischievous. Showing how much longing he had for his wife, how much he had missed her. "I was thinking of you the whole time."

"Did everyone else go to bed?"

"There'll be some thick head in the morning."

"You look out for her don't you?"

"She's family, why wouldn't I?" Had their been jealousy behind her voice? Only because he had spent all that time away from her, and she was frustrated she wasn't allowed to join the party.

"I heard you came to Rose's rescue the other night."

"She reminds me of a younger you." He said as he climbed in next to her.

"Thanks for that." She said sarcastically and a bit hurt.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "You will always be beautiful to me."

"Nice save."

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Edith was eagerly checking over the post.

"No news from Gregson?" Mary asked.

"He's called things off. I've tried writing to him but he's not responding. I haven't heard from him since Scotland."

"Did you try the paper?"

"He's cleared out his office."

"What's this about?" Matthew came to join them.

Mary didn't reply to the footman delivered his breakfast and left the dinning room.

"Her editor quit and left her." She said.

"It was for the best." He said as he poured his coffee.

"You had something to do with this?" Edith was shocked and confused at first, then she felt herself becoming angry. Mary looked from her husband to her sister. It was quite entertaining, a nice change of scenery since being mostly confined to her bed, reading books and newspapers. She tried not to smile with a sense of triumph, that she was outdone, usually it was her job to disrupt Edith's life, though she knew Matthew hadn't meant malicious intent.

"I couldn't well lead yourself to ruin. After I'd done the same to help Rose."

"This is different. The situation isn't remotely the same."

"Not much difference. His wife is sick, not dead. He's legally still married to her and he agreed..."

Edith bolted up from the table, utensils clattering. "I suspect this sort of thing from Papa. In fact he did, which lead to the most humiliating thing of my life... Now I know where your true loyalties lie." She looked scornfully at Mary. Mary looked down a bit ashamedly, maybe it was just the hormones, or Matthew's softness that had rubbed off on her before the war.

Matthew tried to speak but Edith cut across him, "You can be Rose and Mary's knight in shining armor but you can't be mine." She angrily pushed in her chair and stormed off.

Matthew put his napkin on his plate and stood up.

"Let her go...cool off. For now." She said to her husband.

"I was just trying to help. This family is just as important as preserving Downton. It's my first priority before that."

"You can't fix everything, darling."

No, he couldn't. He couldn't even fix himself.

* * *

The 21st of September, Mary went into labor. After twelve long hours, a new Crawley entered the world, the next morning at 9:15 a.m.

"Say hello to your son and heir."

"I have a son!" Matthew looked down at him with such joy and awe and happiness. "Hello, my dearest little chap. I wonder if he knows how much joy he brings with him." He knows he's blubbing but he had never thought he'd live to see this day, that it would be possible. How long he had waited. _I've waited so long for you. _He turned to his wife, his beautiful wife, who had just complicated the hard task of bringing him into the world. "My darling, how are you? Really?"

"Tired." The baby yawned in agreement in his arms. Mary smiled. In sync with her already but she hoped he took after his father, not just in looks. "And pretty relieved. We've done our duty. Downton is safe. Papa must be dancing a jig."

"I'm dancing a jig." He laughed, tearing up, looking down at his son once more. His heart swelled with such love. How could one simply contain this much joy without bursting? "I feel as if though I swallowed a box of fireworks!" He handed their son back to her. "You are going to be such a wonderful mother."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're such a wonderful woman."

"I hope I'm allowed to be your Mary Crawley for all eternity and not Edith's evil version or anybody else's."

"You'll be my Mary always. Because mine is the true Mary. Do you know how very happy you've made me?"

"You sound so foreign." Like he's never been happy before. Fatherhood was already changing him. She was looking forward to those changes, to get to see a different side of him. "Shouldn't you be saying things like you'll be up and about in no time?"

"That can wait till later. But right now, I want to tell you that I fall in love with you each day that passes."

"I'll hold you to that until we're old and grey."

"Where are the others?"

"Still back at the house. Panting to see you. I had mother hold them off. I wanted to be with my family."

"Well you better go and telephone them. But first I think I deserve a proper kiss."

"You most certainly, certainty have." He bent over her and sat on the bed next to her, bending down, he kissed her. He can finally let go of all the horrors, all the nightmares, let them rest. This was their new start.

_March 1922_

Rose had met an African American Jazz player, Johnny Johnson, at a club back in February. Johnny eventually hit it off with Tom and naturally Matthew especially Matthew. They had their own demons they were fighting. Johnny amerced himself in the world of music. It was a cultural shock to the rest of the family and was hard to accept him.

Rose had invited him and his jazz band to preform at Robert's party. Surprisingly, Robert had enjoyed the music, and everyone was dancing. Rose had invited him back for dinner but she had been called back home briefly. Matthew decided to still have him over as it would have been rude to cancel his invitation as he was his friend. It did not go over well with some of the guests but respectfully kept their thoughts to themselves. Granny seemed to be the only one of the older generation to break the uncomfortable silence, willing to strike up conversation with the young man.

"Is that your real name or your stage name?"

"Yes, unfortunately Johnny Johnson, is my real name."

Then Robert joined in the conversation, that their Butler Carson was part of a two man group in Vaudeville, The Dancing Charlies. "Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have." He was a man of few words but more polite compared to guests they had in the past.

Larry Gray tried to frame Johnny for stealing. Mary was appalled that he was allowed back at the house after what he had tried to do with Tom, spiking his drink. Mary came to Johnny's defense. She believed Matthew that Johnny hadn't stole anything. Larry claimed to know a thing or two about Johnny, his father was a thief and in prison. Johnny said it was true. His father was currently serving time in prison.

Carson checked Larry's pockets, and revealed what was to be expected. After, he was finally exiled from Downton.

Larry Gray, who had sat through dinner, tried to frame Johnny for stealing. Mary was appalled that he was allowed back at the house after what he had tried to do with Tom, spiking his drink. Mary came to Johnny's defense. She believed Matthew that Johnny hadn't stole anything. Larry claimed to know a thing or two about Johnny, his father was a thief and in prison. Johnny said it was true. His father was currently serving time in prison.

Carson checked Larry's pockets, and revealed what was to be expected. After, he was finally exiled from Downton, but not before making a scene of course. They tried to continue the dinner in peace.

Larry, who had obviously holding back his thoughts, finally let loose his opinions, insulting Matthew for defending Johnny. "Of course, marrying outside of one's class brings nothing but disadvantages. No doubt the source of your bad influences."

"You know that Matthew is 'my' heir." Robert's voice gave warning, his patients wearing thin.

"What does that prove?"

"He's more than capable of running an estate."

"That remains to be seen. Everyone has distant cousins who are fairly odd."

Mary gave him a glare from across the table for his tackiness and insulting her husband. She only held her tongue because it was the polite thing to do. She was shocked when her father spoke up.

"How dare you!" Her father thundered. Some nerve, insulting a man who had served his country and had the scars to bear it. While Larry had coward, safe behind a desk.

"Will you go, Larry?" His own father had had enough. His brother Tim, who had sat mostly silent, looked embarrassed by his older brother. He muttered his brother's name under his breath and shook his head. "I have made excuses for your rudeness the last time you sat at this table..."

"I know, I'm just calling it as it is, father. As if consulting with Negros was enough. I know the choice of in-laws is eccentric in this family already boast a chauffeur and soon you can claim a Jew." He glanced at Lady Sinderby (Robert still had a very close friendship with her even though their relationship hadn't worked out) and her son. "and added to the mix a washed up crippled middle class lawyer. It's really quite a shame what this family has sunk to." He then tells Mary that she could have done better.

Matthew had sat quietly with his jaw clenched. Mary watched what had to be agonizing silence for him. A part of her wished he would fight in her honor. But he was doing the right thing, not causing a scene.

Tom stood up abruptly, "Why don't you just get out you bastard?"

Larry got up from his chair, "Well, if that is how you feel."

"I don't endorse Tom's language." Robert began. "but that is certainty how we all feel." Carson gave a discreet nod at Molseley, as if to say get ready for the toss out. Molesley was deeply insulted and upset for Matthew, whom he had helped care for during his injury. A man who had suffered greatly. Though he had felt like a coward for not being able to join up himself due to his lung problem. Even though it could not have been helped. He still felt like a coward for having been grateful for it. "How dare you insult my guests and my family." Lord Grantham continued. "Your manners prove that being highborn does not necessarily mean high-class. Someone get him out of my sight."

Lord Merton apologized for his son's behavior as Tom and Atticus escorted Larry out. Matthew followed out after them, Mary not far behind. She could hear Granny's voice carrying after her, "You can always count on an Irishman for a perfectly timed and executed expletive!"

As she stopped at the entrance she could hear Larry still going off. "You're not fooling anyone. You married her to save your own hide. Don't pretend I don't know. I'd gladly take her off your hands. She's just the type of woman I'd like to get to know better."

She came out the front doors in time to see to see Matthew take a swing at Larry. He had been waiting to come to her defense, out of sight of the family. He was being the perfect gentlemen. But the commotion outside brought the attention of the dinner guests and the servants. Before anyone knew what was going on, Matthew had Larry on the ground after punching Larry in the nose. Insulting Mary had been one step too far. No one was breaking it up, enjoying the little scene. Larry got one good punch in, his fist connecting with Matthew's eye that would definitely leave a bruise. The force of the blow had turned Matthew's head away. Then something come over Matthew as if something in him had snapped. Mary watched his whole demeanor change. He was on top of Larry, straddling him, his hands going to his throat. No one seemed to notice how serious it was getting.

"Matthew, you can stop now." She almost pleaded.

Suddenly he lessened his grip. Something came over him again, Mary couldn't explain it, as if he was waking up, she supposed. The unfamiliar rage and desperation of a man at war that she had seen in his eyes returned to the warmth and gentleness of her husband.

Tom and Bates finally realising, helped Matthew up. While he rested against Tom, Bates went to go get his chair.

"You saw what he did!" Larry stood up, straightening himself, pointing his finger like a tattling child. But it was clear, at least to Mary that he had genuinely feared for his life. "He tried to kill me! He's insane!"

"I didn't see anything." Stated Robert, turning to his Valet. "Did you, Bates?"

"No, my Lord."

"You just got what was handed to you." Tom was now leading Larry to the car. "and right so deserved it."

Standing beside the car, Lord Merton once again apologised for his son, this time to Isobel. "It was about time someone put him in his place. Since his mother, it seems he's been filled more resentment and hatred. I often wonder where my wife and I went wrong with them."

"Tim seems like he's a decent fellow."

"Tim's just a follower. He has no backbone, up until recently, I think he has tired of it as well. He always followed Larry around."

Robert called Johnny to see him in the library. He apologized for Larry's behavior and asked if he would like a job.

"To work at Downton? No offense, but I get payed more in a week performing at a club than I would here."

* * *

Johnny accompanied Matthew in the drawing room.

"You didn't have to stick up for me back there."

"I was defending everyone's honor at that table." Matthew said modestly.

"Still, you don't know what kind of man I am. What kind of life I had before."

"Who we were, was lost during the war."

"Who were any of us before the war?" Johnny's words sparked his interest.

"Did you serve?"

"That wasn't the only time I encountered death. I watched my mother die. I was four." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that. It was an aneurysm they said. I was with her body for hours while my dad was ripping off a jewelry store. Blood doesn't determine who you are. It's the way you let who you've become affect you."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's not. But the world goes on. My mother loved music. That's how I found a way to live. You have to let life happen again, and laugh, and then, you can breath again."

She asked him that night before bed, "What did Larry mean when he said, You're not fooling anyone. That you married me to save your own hide." Could it be something to do with Pamuk? She knew Matthew loved her and not only married her to protect her from the scandal. It could still come out at anytime. But if Larry did know, Matthew had silenced him. Larry wouldn't be talking about anything, any time soon or at all in the foreseeable future. Had it been worth it? There was still an unsettling feeling deep within her.

"He was trying to get further under my skin and it worked. It meant nothing." He pulled the blanket around him, as she climbed into bed next to him.

She wondered what had been going through his mind as he had nearly throttled Larry. Had he been in the middle of an episode or lost in the moment? She had never known him to be violent. A glimpse of what he had been in war?

No. That wasn't him. He was a loving, caring man, husband, now father. Coming to her defense had further proven that he could still protect them. Was he still denying that? And this behavior, this recklessness, was just him acting it out.

The recklessness. He had become increasingly so, that it worried Mary deeply. She would never forget that night he came home, beaten.

It was raining heavily, the front doors swung open with a bang. She had thought it was the storm that had blown them. Johnny and Tom had their arms under Matthew, his feet dragging. Matthew's face was heavily bruised.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Mary came over, trying to hold his face up. He was barely conscious.

"We were ambushed." Tom said.

"Was anything taken?"

"They were after me." Johnny said. "Mr. Matthew tried to intervene."

"Call me Matthew, Johnny. You at least deserve that."

"This was you?" Mary's eyes were hooded with anger, directed at Johnny.

"I told him not to."

"Whatever you have my husband and my cousin Rose involved in it ends now. I want you to stay away..." She could only gesture with the wave of her hand.

* * *

Dr. Clarkson was called to the house. As he put slight pressure on Matthew's stomach, he grunted in pain. "The ribs aren't broken but they are bruised. He was lucky there was no further damage to his spine. He does however have a slight concussion."

"He feels a bit warm." Mary voices her concern. She hoped it wasn't going to turn into a fever, that could easily turn into pneumonia or an infection. "He's been having chills." She had had Bates make up two hot water bottles and a flannel. That had seemed to bring it down a bit. It had stopped the shivering considerably.

After he takes his temperature, he adds, 'just a slight chill from being out in the cold air. I doubt it will turn into pneumonia or fever. I strongly recommend bed rest. No strenuous activity and keep the room temperature consistent to prevent it from developing. And see that he spends time away from baby just in case."

"What were you thinking?" Mary shouted at Matthew after Clarkson had left the room, and she had firmly shut the door.

"I was only helping."

"Going out this late at night, as cold as it is." He knew how prone to colds and infections due to his spinal damage. That he would carry with him for the rest of his life. If he further damaged his spine he would never walk again. It was as if he was deliberately putting himself at risk. "What were you thinking?" She repeated. "Edith was right you can't be everyone's knight in shining armor. Someday it'll bloody get you killed." She sobbed, heavily. It horrified her that he didn't seem to care. "Your son needs you."

"He needs you."

She watched him, waiting. For what, for some sign?

She thought back to their argument back at Duneagle. He had thought he wouldn't be a deserving father, believed that he couldn't be one, convinced that he wasn't her Matthew anymore, that he was long gone. But he wasn't. As she told him so, he had nodded. Had been willing to try and let her find him again, that he could be found. Had he really meant it? If he truly believed that he was too far gone, she wouldn't give up. She was willing to get him back no matter how long it took.

"I'll bring him up to you after his feeding." Maybe seeing George would cheer him up. Matthew had rarely been to see him. It was like George was a half orphan, and Matthew wasn't really living. He had been over joyed at the prospect, at the day of his birth as any new father did. She didn't understand this sudden turn back into that dark hole he had managed to dig himself out of, or maybe he'd never been out of it at all. The only way to get her Matthew back, was for him to want to.

"You heard Dr. Clarkson. Wait till the temperature goes down. Then I'll see him."

"We need to talk about it, you know. About Duneagle and what happened the other night." He had had another episode, prompted by the thunder, that no doubt, in his mind sounded like shell explosions and gun fire. She had held his hand, singing to him as he shook, until he relaxed, coming back to her. She had tried to comfort him but he had pushed her away.

"No, we don't."

"They came back. I think we should tell your mother." She would know what to do.

"No."_ Please don't tell her._

She'd respect his wish, at least for now, but it had to be discussed. "If you don't want to tell her, we have to talk about it. We can't skate around things anymore." She helped him take a sip of water.

"I haven't had any since then." He still had the occasional nightmares.

She set the glass aside. He tried to adjust his sitting postilion but winced. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "You should stay lying down." A moment of silence passed.

"You know I love you. I've always loved you from the first moment I saw you." He smiled at her but even that hurt.

"I know that. We were both so eager to deny it."

"I wasn't going around, intentionally looking to get hurt tonight." How could he explain to her? The rush of excitement he had felt, the potential danger, no regards to his well being, not having to think about himself. He'd try his best. "It's just...it's just like..." Words started to fail him. He couldn't find them.

"Yes?" She waited for him to give an explanation, so she could help him.

"I don't know what it's like. I just didn't care. I don't want to care." She took him into her arms, mindful of his ribs, and simply just held him.

"Everything will be fine. When you see your son." His Mary, his true Mary. He hoped more than anything that she would be right.


	6. A New Beginning

Chapter Six: A New Beginning

She watched his face soften as he held George. The first time she had seen it return. The war had taken that softness. His eyes were closed as he held his son to his chest. George's head rested on his shoulder, the top of his head against his cheek.

Skin on skin contact was good for mother and baby, she was told. _What about for father and child?_ She found herself asking. _Especially for him. This bonding could help him to heal. _

She didn't want to disturb them, hanging back by the nursery door, but concealing herself so she couldn't be seen. She could see he was trying but it was hard, could sense him struggling from where she was standing. But she must let them be.

He had not want to see George after his fever broke. He made excuses, that he wanted to wait, till the bruising went down. He didn't want to scare him.

"He's still too young to care what you look like." Mary said, teasingly at first, then with seriousness, "he won't remember." Even when the bruising went down, he still had made excuses. Something apparently had changed, for when Mary went to go check on George, there he was, beside George's cot, holding him.

Having grown tired of this downward spiral, he decided to go see his son. He didn't know how much it would help but he should try. His ribs were still sore that he had to use his chair, it relieved them a bit. He dragged himself out of bed and got himself into the wheelchair. It didn't take much effort, thanks to Sybil and Dr. Clarkson, and Bates, who had taught him how to maneuver himself when he was paralyzed. He wheeled himself down to the nursery, not far from his and Mary's quarters. One of the doors was left open so it wasn't difficult to wheel himself through.

He had changed so much since he's seen him. He'd come to see him before, when he was born and several weeks after, but would not touch him. He didn't want to now, but something came over him. He stood up, ignoring the dull ache in his heart, his protesting ribs, and picked up the infant from his cot. He eased himself into the chair. The small infant's presence and innocence seemed to flow over him like an aura. It somehow eased his pain, not just the psychical.

He was speaking to his son now, whispering, Mary had to strain to hear.

"You are too young to understand but I want you to know how much I love you, my dear boy. I might seem cold and distant to you some days but I want you to know. It is because of you I will try my best. You are my reason to live." His own words were a surprise to him. It was decided then. It is because of this beautiful boy, this new life, he was determined to win his happy ending.

The words stung Mary. His only reason? What about her? Didn't he love her anymore? He had been sleeping in his dressing room since George's birth. They hardly ever touched each other. Did he still find her attractive or did he not want to be in the same room with her because...no he said he could never despise her. Did he despise himself?

He had felt like he could not live up to being the best father. Now he was willing to try? What had changed?

The birth had affected him in strange ways. At first he was over the moon like any new father, or so it had seemed. He smiled and said all the right things. The next few days he seemed reluctant to touch the baby, even look at him. It would revolve back and forth.

He'd show interest again but this time she noticed something off, his voice had seemed hollow somehow.

"Have you picked out a name yet?" He had asked her. Mary had spent a week in bed, bonding with the baby, it had been a tiring birth. The doctor said no riding for a least a month. That didn't sit well with Mary. She wasn't comfortable with being confined to the bed, anymore than he had been. It had taken a while to decide on a name. Matthew hadn't seemed to take interest in that either.

"George."

"George. What a noble name." He smiled down at the baby in his cot but Mary noticed the smile did not reach his eyes. Why couldn't he be happy?

"It is. A fitting name considering what he'll become."

"We don't know what he'll become. But I hope he will never have to know the horror of war." _His innocents taken away._ "What it's taken from me."

Mary had discussed her concern with her mother in-law, Matthew's lack on interest in George, about Duneagel, about the episodes during their stay and his recent behavior, seemingly putting himself in danger, not thinking of the consequences. Isobel had voiced her own concern but had sounded meddling and condescending, that she's taken on too much. She was his mother, she knew him better. "He'll hide his pain."

Did she really think that she didn't know that? She had spent less time with her own son, Matthew had told her as such, that their mother's hadn't been that different in that retrospect._ You only take interest in him now that he's damaged._ She wanted to shout but held back her tongue. It wouldn't be good for Matthew or the baby if they could sense they were at odds with each other.

Matthew had been close to his father, even though his father's surgery had taken up most of his time. Matthew had spent most of his childhood surrounded by books, spending hours at the library, where he took interest in law. She had imagined him as a child curled up in a hard chair, reading, then a young man pouring over several books, strewn out all over the table, parchment everywhere, sticking between the pages. Here are the hours that forged the man. What kind of man would their child grown into?

His mother had spoken to him but she wouldn't discuss with Mary what they had talked about.

"Can you tell me what has been going on with you?" Her son gave her an expression, pretending he didn't know what she was talking out. "Mary's told me about Duneagle."

He froze in his tracks by the window, before looking out it. "What about it?" He was glad Mary hadn't told her about the other night. His behaviour in Scotland had been more concerning.

"She's worried, you know." He said nothing to this but she could tell that he was annoyed, one of his defenses to avoid something. "About everything else and what happened with Larry..."

"I was defending her honor."

"She's told me that she's concerned that it was more than that. Since then it seems you've been deliberately getting yourself into trouble. Remember when you had that fight when you were in school and your father and I had to convince them to let you stay?"

"This is nothing like that, mother."

"Then what is it like?" She watched him to try and determine his body language. She got nothing. He was no longer ridged, bent over running his finger's over the sill.

"It was just the stress of becoming a new father. I have all that under control now."

Did he really? Isobel couldn't tell. She wondered if the stress was too much on him, what being a father demanded, with his condition. "If you're feeling overwhelmed Mary and I can step in."

He then turned to her. "What else has Mary told you?" His voice was hard and accusing. She knew he was trying to hide his pain from her and something else. Was it just her or did he sound paranoid? Paranoia was one of the symptoms of shell shock. Isobel forced herself not to swallow and loose her composure. It was hard to tell where her son was at, mentally. She had to believe that he was fine. He's just annoyed of his wife's prying, though she means well and is trying to help.

_So she HAS told her everything._ He didn't like that they were confiding in each other about him behind his back.

_They're only trying to help. No one can help me. Can't they see that?_

"She's also told me that you haven't been to see your son."

At this, he perked up but his tone also had a flatness to it. "I have." _Son. My son_. His heart swelled, hearing those words, saying those words but at the same time it felt heavy, like an impending dread hanging over him like a grey cloud. Still a stranger in a strange world, he sometimes felt, an impostor, pretending for everyone else. He didn't deserve this life. He had stolen it from so many. Yet, he believed he did deserve it, his happy ending. William and so many others that had lain down their lives, had given him this life. _Their suffering should not be in vein. So I had chosen life._

"Just not as often as your wife would want you too. And you should."

"Mother..." He started to protest. What would she know? His own father spent little time with him but when he did have time, he let him know that he loved him, acknowledged him.

"A son needs his father. I could understand it if you explain it to me." She understood on some level, what it was like to feel despondent from your child. For her it had been because she had been afraid of losing him as she had lost the others. What was he afraid of? She tried to examine his face, watching his expression for subtle changes. Matthew went straight faced as he always did when he wanted to avoid something. She tried a different approach. "How are you, really?"

"I've been better. I don't think about the war as much, now that I have a son to think about."

"That you hardly see." She reminded him again, aiming to instill it in him.

"You know why. He'll...pick up on things."

"Perhaps you can talk about it now. The war." He shook his head. He looked afraid as if talking about it now would undo the progress of the less frequent nightmares. He didn't have any episodes while he was awake anymore. "It will help." It's been four years Matthew, you can't keep it inside of you for ever. It would fester like a wound. She had hoped he would have confided in Mary, but she should have known of his stubbornness and kind heart would prevent him. He would rather suffer alone than to let others see him suffer. "I have seen war." She had been at the forefront of it as a nurse. "I have seen what it had done. That night when you told Mary about Patrick, when you said those things that happened..."

"I didn't see those things."

"Can you tell me?"

He swallowed, hesitating before he answered, "I saw...people I knew being shot down in front of me." One of the things he had mentioned. She nodded for him to go on, that it was ok. "what the shells..." He swallowed again. "I went cold to it."

"You had to look out for your men."

But he wouldn't listen or let her continue with her excuses. "I watched bodies being carried away... parts of bodies." His horrified expression changed to a bit relaxed.. "You know what I was thinking?" He smiled and and gave a short laugh. "I couldn't help thinking, thank God, I didn't become a doctor." It changed again to empty. "I don't have to pick up bodies and try to put them together. That's not a normal thought." His brows furrowed. He was thinking or trying not to think.

"No. It isn't." Was all Isobel could say. What would the damage had been if she and her husband had their way and he had become a doctor? How could one shuffle through so many emotions at once? Was it normal? She had to ask herself. The nurse in her answered, who relied on science, _Of course! Humans are very complex and our minds are wired to process tons of information at once._ Sometimes that means we feel a lot of things all at the same time. It can be overwhelming, but it's perfectly normal. It was this, she believed that made them different from other animals, they were able to think, too much, was what drove a person mad. But her son wasn't mad, just...fractured. There was a way to put him back together.

He gave a flicker of a smile. It should ease her but it doesn't.

"I feel better now." He said, leaning back in his chair. Maybe he was saying that for her benefit but he did feel something being lifted. No one would truly understand. She had seen them but she hadn't experienced it. _You don't truly know the horrors of war, until you have taken life, watched a human being die horribly, just a boy, his eyes pleading for a life that you can't return. You don't know._

He had killed to survive.

_Killing is a horrible thing and the human mind is wired to consider that a horrible thing. We take a normal human and break them down and rebuild them to overcome this natural aversion to killing another human, but the mind never ever fully accepts that killing another human is normal. Soldiers have to live with those memories until they die._

_The function of war is to make the enemy change his mind, to make him quit. The tools of war are used to apply stress., to wear the enemy down. All that we do to the enemy, we do to us. We are changed by the experience. Soldiers are the millstone that wears down the enemy, but we are too are worn. We were lured into war by propaganda and lies. We know we have allowed ourselves to be manipulated by everyone. We see our peers, our superiors, our government, our culture and ourselves in a very harsh light. We stand naked in our own sight. What we see is confusing - most all of the virtues commingle with most all of the vices. Why do we most remember the vices? Random phrases to distract his mind. Was this madness?_

_You who have not been there, cannot judge me… is both pompous bombast and understatement. The truth is that you who are not I, cannot judge me._

_And I cannot judge you. A man who I had served with has recently died. Just months shy of the date that his wife would have qualified for veteran's survivor's benefits, he came home to suicide in their garden._

_The war had maimed her, long after it was over._

_You, too, have your wounds._ He thought to her. We all do.

Yet, he must go on.

He was being punished for it. First it was his friends. All of them died. The nightmares, the memories he couldn't forget, was his personal hell. First it had been his friend, Major Stewart. He tried to clear his mind but the visions still came.

_A jerry took Stewart's socks, a rare luxury in the trenches, (many men died from infection and gangrene or frostbite because of the lack of socks) while he was still alive. Matthew chased after him. It was a stupid thing to do. He could have been shot. He could just see it, Matthew Crawley, killed in action over a pair of socks. That was the reality there. Many had fallen after him. Patrick. William._

_Then of course, there had been Edwards. Before William._

_They were under heavy fire, once it stopped they'd be able to drive the Germans back, but then the shelling started._

_Occasionally one would fall into the trenches. This time it was bad._

_"Sir." It was William, "It's Edwards." He was frightened and Matthew knew why. Edwards was sitting up, half of his body covered by rubble. He looked like he was dead._

_William helped him shift it. It was then they realized that the blast had torn off Edwards' right arm and leg._

_Edwards was surprisingly alert and talking. "How bad is it?"_

_"Alright, soldier." Matthew put his hand on his shoulder of his arm that still remained, indicating that it was bad._

_"I could really use a cigarette."_

_There was nothing else to say or do. Matthew took his own flattened packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He placed one between Edwards' lips and lit it for him, trying not to let his hand shake. Edwards' grabbed his hand to steady it._

_The shelling went on, until it lifted they were stuck where they were, cut off from reinforcements._

_After awhile Edwards said he was thirsty._

_From having had a doctor for a father and mother as a nurse, he knew that wasn't good. It meant he had lost too much blood._

_Matthew took his own canteen and held it to his lips, letting him drink long and hard. He tried to push it away with the arm that was no longer there. He had forgotten._

_"Sorry, sir. Sleeping on duty." His voice sounded faint but Matthew hadn't noticed. He was looking around, focusing on their surroundings._

_"Don't worry about it." He smiled and and turned his hea_d_ toward Edwards, only to find blank eyes staring back at him._

_He should feel something. All he feels is relief._

"Matthew?" He had gone quiet for some time, away somewhere else. Saying his name brought him back from wherever he was.

"I can't tell Mary that." He couldn't tell her what he had just told his mother, or what he had thought just now. It would shatter their illusions of him, even if they know he must have taken lives.

"She's stronger than you think."

"Maybe too strong." He paused for a moment. "You understand why I can't see my son? Because I don't want him to see." How could he face his son, at seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, knowing he'd taken a life of a boy about that age?

"He's still too small to understand and when he gets older, we'll manage it." Matthew looked doubtful. "I'll arrange Dr. Clarkson for you to talk to." He opened his mouth to protest. "Talking will help."

Now, he put George back in his cot, unaware of Mary watching. He was a bit better since talking to his mother and Clarkson, he had done so to humor her at first, but he would not allow himself to get any better than that. He didn't know who he was without it all.

Mary turned away from the door. Seeing Tom walking down the hallway, she stopped him. She told him that Sybie was out with the nanny. He could tell that she wanted to ask him something.

"Could you talk to Matthew, maybe you can get through to him? You're his best friend."

"I don't know how much help I'll be able to do. We haven't been close lately." He saw the desperation on Mary's face. Anyone else wouldn't have seen it.

"At least try."

"I'll see what I can do."

Tom entered the nursery, approached Matthew and stood beside him. He wondered if his old friend was aware of his presence. He seemed miles away.

"Huh. I haven't noticed before." Apparently he had sensed him.

"What's that?" Tom asked.

"He looks a lot like me but he has Mary's eyes."

"He does. We were betting on who he would look like." He put a hand on his shoulder, "It will help if you find something you're interested in. It helped me when Sybil died."

"Did anyone we know die?" It was an attempt at dry witty humor. A smile, half frown tugged at his lips.

Mary had entered, shocked, she replied, "No."

"Downton and George." There was a spark of enthusiasm but his voice sounded a bit tired.

"That's good." Tom said. "but you don't have to worry about Downton, Mary and I can manage the estate with Robert, while you get better. Focus on your son." He patted his shoulder, then left Matthew and Mary so they could be alone.

"You don't think I can run Downton?"

"Not in your current state. At least till you're better."

"It's not going to get better. I've told you that. I can't be the man that was taken away from you. War takes away everything."

"We're not in a war! I don't want us to be at war with each other! He can sense it."

The baby started to wail.

"Can you at least hold your son?"

"I already held him."

Mary picked up George. She calmed the baby down, once he was fed, Matthew looked away. Was it her exposed breast, her fear of if he still thought her attractive surfaced again, or was he shocked of such action that should be done in private? She placed the infant back in his cot.

"How's everyone else?" He asked.

"They're all fine. Rose isn't very happy with me."

"You told Johnny to stay away, didn't you?"

"That probably want stop her but at least he'll have the good sense to turn her away."

"I mean from me."

"He put you in danger, whatever he was involved in. It would have been a matter of time before he dragged Rose into it as well."

"He wasn't. I only tried to help him."

"Why do you feel the need to try to save everyone? To fix everything?"

"I suppose it's because I'm sick of trying to fix myself."

Mary opened her mouth but then closed it, tightening her jaw, "It doesn't matter to me who you try to save or fix as long as you're not putting yourself in danger. I don't care if you feel the need to save me, the only thing that matters is that you save yourself."

He changed the subject.

"You didn't give him a chance to explain himself, did you?"

"No. You know how I am."

"I want you to find him and apologize. I know he's still in the village. He'll need the money. He deserves to give an explanation."

"I suppose you're right." She came over to him. She put her hand to his face, her fingers intertwined in the back of his hair.

"What are you doing?"

"I love you, Matthew. I should have said it to you much sooner" She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, then traced his lips. He seemed to savor it, if only for a moment, before he recoiled. She couldn't be too late. She had put off their first engagement for so long, she had almost lost him. She had almost lost him so many times. She wasn't going to lose him now.

"Please, don't..."

"It's been so long since we've been like this." Her voice was longing, longing for something he could not give. He knew where her other hand was going, down to his trousers.

He caught her hand and brushed, yanked it away. "For God's sake." How could see want him like this?

She gazed at him with hurt, trying to decipher what he was feeling, trying to understand. Did he not want her anymore? "I want my husband back." He didn't say anything to that. "Please give me back my husband." She searched his face as if she would find him hiding there.

"I can't."

She slowly backed away from him and left the room.

* * *

She lied in their room at night, alone, as usual. She would usually fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. This night was different. She rolled over onto her side, taking Matthew's pillow and hugged it to herself, curling up into a fetal position.

It was pathetic, she thought. She was Mary Crawley. She didn't cry over spilled milk and certainly wasn't one to give up easily. They had been through hell and back, and hell again.

This had nothing to do with her. It had to do with him. He had felt too vulnerable in that moment. Or perhaps he felt like he didn't deserve to be touched.

Whatever he was going through, they'd have to face it. If he was going to fight for George, she was going to fight for him.

She thought of going to his dressing room, then just as quickly thought against it.

Then the door creaked open.

"Mary." The soft whisper of her name. He was standing in the doorway. After a moment he made his way over to the bed, their bed. He went over to his side but did not get in. He leaned over and stroked her hair, over and over, as if to say, mine.

She thought she must be dreaming this.

He then got into the bed and lied there. After awhile, she turned to him. She couldn't tell if his eyes were open. She listened. The sound of his breathing told her he was awake. She was still accustomed to what his breathing sounded like when he was asleep.

He had wanted her to touch him but at the same time he felt he didn't deserve it, that he was stealing somebody else's life, somebody else's wife. He felt discussed that she still wanted him, yet he longed for her.

Cautiously she slinked her arm around him, testing the waters. It seemed enough to reignite the fire. His breathing was now slightly charged with desire. Her hand then found her way down to his trousers.

"I want to turn on the light so I can see you." She said. He did it for her, reaching for the lamp so she didn't have to stop, at least for too long.

He kissed her and then rolled on top of her. "I want to be your Matthew Crawley. I want his life." He wanted his life back. "I want his children." He deserved it. He deserved to be loved.

"Then take it." She looked up at him and saw his eyes darken, and he took her.

* * *

She found Johnny still at the club, where he frequently performed.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, shocked that she would show up here, and at this time of night.

"Isn't it obvious? I came to apologize."

He ushered her to follow him to somewhere private, in the back, behind the stage. He offered her to have a seat at the table, reserved for the musicians and staff. She refused by telling him she wouldn't be there long.

"When it comes to me, trying to protect Matthew, I avoid all reason in the moment. I shouldn't have jumped to a conclusion without letting you explain."

"His words."

"I'm not good at apologizing." Mary openly admitted.

"No." He replied.

"Well, thanks."

"No, I mean, you were right. I was in the wrong." She quickly realised that he had meant it as a joke. No wonder Matthew liked him. He was an easy man to get along with. "I wasn't involved in anything. That's not my sort of thing. But I knew we were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Instead I stayed. I guess I wanted a fight, when those guys showed up. Matthew wasn't anywhere near it when it started. He was inside with Tom." He didn't know if she believed him or not. (it was the truth) but he didn't care. "But let me tell you something, there's something about it, the adrenaline, it just washes over you, it makes you feel alive."

Mary finally understood why Matthew had that phase, that "God Complex" as she called it, only to herself, to try and save people. Saving people somehow made up or helped him come to terms with the people he couldn't save in the war. It gave him back control. He was giving something back.

While danger made Johnny feel alive or just by being in presence of it. Johnny had failed to see it. He openly admitted it. "I was still going through some things and I should've realized that he was too. You were right that I stay away. I'll be here awhile longer, till I get enough money to move on from here."

"What about Rose?"

"Rosie's a young girl. She'll move on." Johnny was a year younger than Matthew, thirty-seven. Rose was only nineteen.

He saw her safely to the car.

* * *

It was May when she told Matthew she was pregnant again.

"I hope it's a girl this time." He said. "One who looks just like you."

December fourteenth 1922, he got his wish, their daughter, Josephine Alexandria Crawley was born. He spent more time with her than he had when George was born. As they grew older, he'd take turns spending time with both of them. He'd even get down on the floor with George, (Matthew would need assistance getting up afterwards but it was well worth it.) who would happily climb over him. He was thirteen months now and was becoming an interesting little person. He liked to pull on the nannies apron when she had her back turned and would laugh as the strings came undone. But Josephine proclaimed to be in charge, as she grew bigger. She'd roll all over George in the cot and shout baby babble at him if she was shouting commands.

Matthew looked down at both of them. They shared a cot now. Sybie had her own. Sybie loved her Uncle Matthew. She loved sitting on his lap and he'd wheel her around whatever floor they were on. Now that he had a little girl of his own he still referred to them as 'his girls.'

"What a beautiful family we've made." He said to his wife. He was genuinely happy. He didn't have to fake it or hide behind a mask. At that moment they didn't know how much their family would grow in the next five years.

Another girl, Katherine Eugenia Crawley was born to them in January of 1924. She was blonde haired and blue eyed like her father. It was a busy year that year, with not only their family expanding. In the summer Rose had met and fell in love with Atticus Aldridge. After a whirlwind romance of nine months, the pair were married in, 1925. Also Daniel, their footman, O'Brien's Nephew, had married Tally Stevens, the maid, that year. The two young couples sparked a deeper passion in Mary and Matthew, and their love burned even brighter and stronger.

On the tenth of May, 1926, the twins were born, on Matthew's birthday. The first was a boy, Andrew Patrick Crawley. The other, a girl, who did not make it. She was later named Abigail Elizabeth Crawley. Matthew had named her, as Mary had been the one to name George. His little Beth, he had called her. She had been little. So tiny. She could fit in his hands. Mary was inconsolable. She never saw her daughter. Brown haired like Josephine.

He had been in the waiting room from what seemed like endless hours. Surely it shouldn't take this long.

When the doctor came out of the delivery room, Matthew stood and went over to him.

"Congratulations Mr. Crawley, you have a beautiful boy!" The doctor said, Matthew was too overjoyed to detect the slight hesitation in his voice.

"That's great news! George is always badgering for a brother to play with, that's my oldest. He and I won't be spending the rest of our lives surrounded by a household of women, though we'd still be fretfully outnumbered. The other is a girl then!"

The doctor wasn't smiling. "Mr. Crawley, might I have a word in the other room." He followed him to a room adjacent to the waiting area. "It was indeed a girl."

"Was." Matthew silently whispered, rubbing his hand over his face. At the doctor's next words, he blinked back the tears starting to well in his eyes.

"She was stillborn." Matthew was barely listening now. He said something about she must had died not long ago in the womb, wasn't given enough nutrition to survive. "We don't know why these things happen."

"Can I see her?"

"In a few moments. The nurse is preparing your son for her to see him."

"My daughter." Matthew corrected the doctor.

"I don't think that would be wise. It could be distressing."

"It will help."

It didn't. She was in a basin, in a sink, covered with a sheet. He thought perhaps holding her would help. It didn't.

She was so tiny that she could fit in his hands. Her little face was already blue and had a waxy appearance, except for her tiny feet that dangled out, that were still pink. It was more disturbing than anything he had seen on the battlefield.

He wanted to cry, to yell, anything. Yell at the doctor for discarding their daughter like a piece of trash. But he couldn't. He had to be there for Mary as she had for him. They couldn't both fall apart.

He wanted to blame someone, anyone. It wasn't anyone's nor the doctor's fault. At least they had the decency to wrap her in a blanket. He placed her back in the basin but couldn't bring himself to place the sheet back over her. "Send her over to Graspie's." He said as the doctor covered her for him. "I don't want my wife to see her like this."

"Of course. I'll give you a moment." The doctor stopped at the door for a moment before turning back, "You can take her to the chapel if you like, while we make the preparations." He said. "I'll have someone come get you when your son is ready to bond with mother."

He took her to the chapel and talked to her, just talked without looking at her still, quiet face, rocking her a bit as if she were alive. When the nurse came he almost didn't want her to take his precious daughter away. He could feel the emptiness after she was lifted out of his arms but he still felt like she was there.

"You can be with your wife now, Mr. Crawley. It's best you be there with her, for the news."

He gave a small nod. For a few seconds he remained seated, gripping his hat with all the strength as if it could absorb it. He needed all the strength he's ever had.

* * *

They had brought Andrew in for her to hold and bond with him. Then Mary asked about the other baby. The nurse took him from her arms and set him in the bassinet. She hadn't believed when the doctor said that their daughter did not survive.

"No, it isn't true. Give me my baby."

"She's being sent over to Graspsie's." She was being transferred as they spoke. Mr. Crawley had made the right call. He didn't recommend that mother's view their dead babies. The news of it was already difficult to bear.

"No. You've made a mistake. I felt her. I felt two."

"Mrs. Crawley, often times..." The doctor began but he was interrupted as Mary went into deeper hysterics. Was that how he had sounded, Matthew wondered, when he had been going through his episodes, the nightmares? She had been there for him through it all. It was his time to be there through it with her. He couldn't fall apart and he wouldn't. She had given that to him. But he couldn't have told her this. He let them explain it all while he held her hand, the gesture letting her know that he was here and they could, will get through this.

"Where's my baby? I want my baby." She couldn't, wouldn't believe it. They had to be lying. It had to be some mistake. A mix up. Why wasn't Matthew saying anything?

"She didn't live. She was too small to." The nurse informed, gently.

"No, you're lying. I want my baby. Where's my baby? Matthew, tell them." He'd set them straight. But as she turned her head to look at him, she saw the truth in his eyes. She didn't want to hear the words, not from him. Shaking her head she gave a small, "No."

He had to tell her now, even though it broke his heart to see her world being torn apart. He'd pick up the pieces this time. For better or for worse. That is what they had promised. "It's true, darling." Matthew comforted his wife. He sat beside her. He wiped away her tears, but they kept coming. He smoothed her hair before placing his hand there. "I'd give anything to wish it was not. But it is. But." He said as he took her hand, "we have a healthy boy, a beautiful boy, to love and take care of, and our other children." He held her tightly against him as she clung to him.

Matthew had to be the one to tell the children. Katie was only two, too young to understand. George and Josephine were almost five and four. They were more aware about the world around them. They were confused when only one baby was brought home and not two. They wondered where the second baby in their mummy's tummy went.

"The baby wasn't strong enough to live outside of mummy's tummy." Was what he told them.

Matthew continued with their routine, and expressed to the nanny and George's teacher to do the same. And if they had questions they should ask their parents. He wanted his children to maintain normalcy and routine to help them cope. _Young children do best when they have a sense of normalcy and a predictable routine. _He himself had come a long way because of it.

But they seemed to get on like nothing happened. Children were resilient.

When did he become an expert when it came to children?

He was a natural father. He saw to their needs and their questions. He was the one to explain to them because Mary could not.

"You might not understand, but Mama is going to be sad for a while. If she seem like she's crying too much, it's because she's thinking about the baby."

Their mother spend two hours with them each day at tea time like her mother had done with her.

Their papa spend more time with them. They were hardly alone with the nanny, except when they went out to play or were put to bed. Daddy can't move around too much, was all that was explained to them.

"Andy is there." Katie pointed and looked at her baby brother in his cot. He was a lot more mobile now, moving his arms and legs, pulling himself up, at five months.

"Why doesn't she just come to see him so she won't be sad?" Josephine asked. A year younger than George, and she didn't quite understand, or was she forgetting already? With Katie it was understandable.

"Josephine, go to nanny, so she can get you ready, and take Katie with you." He said to his oldest daughter. It came out a frustrated tone.

She heavily sighed, already prone to dramatics just like her mother.

"Did we do something?" George asked. He wasn't sure what the boy was asking at first. Maybe he was picking up on the his and Mary's emotions and thought it was because of them? Children were also intuitive. "Were we bad?"

He was a bit shocked that a four year old would come to that conclusion. A dead baby and he comes up with the notion it was because he and his sisters were bad children. George was biting his lip to keep it from quivering, his eyes watering.

"Hey, come 'er." He pulled his son into him. "It's nobody's fault this happened. It's not your fault. It's not Mummy's fault. It's not Daddy's fault. It's just something very sad that happened. And we're so glad we have both of you."

"Are you sad?"

Matthew tried to hide his frown as he buttoned up his son's jacket. Nanny was going to take them out to play in the snow. He wanted to go with them but the cold weather would make his old war injury flare up and hard to move around. He wanted to be able to join them and Mary for tea, the only time the six of them were together. Late October and there was already snow on the ground.

"We may be sad now, but we are still a happy and healthy family. We are together, and we love one another." He straightened up, "now, wipe your eyes before your sisters see." He didn't want Kate to see, to further confuse and upset her, especially Josephine, she could be quite the bully.

* * *

An early January day of 1927, Clarkson came to see Matthew. He was surprised to see the doctor, to be making a house call with no notice. He can't be here to talk about the loss of their child and how it affected him. He should be seeing to Mary about that. He made his move to stand up from the dinning room chair but doctor Clarkson's voice stopped him.

"I'm not here to discuss your health. I came here to discuss something with you." He sat down next to Matthew. "As you know your mother and I have been close over the years. I asked her to marry a few years ago at the Cricket match but she thought that it would ruin our friendship."

"At the Cricket Match?"

"I know it was so long ago."

"Do you think somethings changed?"

"Yes. Indeed, it has. We've been seeing a lot of each other lately."

"Oh." His mother hadn't told him that. "I see." He took a moment, and then realized what the doctor was trying to ask. A smile crossed his face, "doctor Clarkson, are you asking my permission to marry my mother?"

"I wanted your thoughts on the matter."

"It's her decision to make, not mine." He picked up his glass and looked at the few inches of liquid remaining, swirling it around. He raised the glass to his lips and swallowed the last sip.

"My only concern is, if I marry your mother, I can't be your GP anymore. It would be a conflict of interest." As Matthew set the glass down, Clarkson thought he saw a flicker of worry cross his face. "I plan to stay on for a few months at least till the wedding, if there is to be one, if not then I'll stay till the spring as planned. A new GP will be taking over my old surgery. I think he'll make a great fit for you. He's the best in the field with your type of injury."

"You're retiring?"

"I think it's about time, though it will be difficult to part with. I'll have Isobel to help me through it. What about you? I need to know that you're alright."

Alright with what? Matthew asked. _Alright in the mind? Alright with marrying my mother, or with abandoning your patient? _He gave a false smile, hopefully one Clarkson would buy. "More than alright. You did the best, doc." He said it humorously.

And he did. They all did.


	7. Are You?

**Chapter Seven: Are you...?**

**Description: With Isobel's marriage to Clarkson, Matthew is conflicted. Mary thinks they're a good match. They struggle to find their place within the new family structure. With Mary finally out of her haze over the loss of the baby, Matthew suggests a trip for just the two of them.**

* * *

_Parents remain part of our identities for life. Even after we're grown, our parent's remarriage can make us feel as if we've lost our foundation. _Matthew was thinking. They had all been dragged into, what was becoming an awkward dinner, with awkward silence. The children were taking their dinner in the smaller dinning room, as was proper, so they would at least be spared this. He thought about joining them, but how improper. He imagined Mary making a big fuss over it and teasing him about it. He tried to focus his mind elsewhere.

He took a minute to consider how lonely his mother's been since father died. It's been...twenty years? Far too long to be lonely.

Isobel could feel the tension at the table. Richard had noticed it for he was the one to speak first, "I know this is a big adjustment for everyone..."

Isobel cut across him, "If anyone has anything to say about my marriage, can say it to my face."

"There are a few things that I would very much like to say." Violet said. "But it wouldn't make for polite dinner conversation." Instead of getting something out of Isobel, she was ignored. Isobel turned to her son instead.

It had been a few days since the wedding, Matthew's acceptance on her marriage to Clarkson seemed to dissipate and he was starting to have reservations about it. It was bound to stir up the village gossip, how she could pass up her chance to married to a Baron, for a country Doctor. That was clearly how Violet had felt but she had not wanted Isobel to marry either of them. The reason why was beyond her. Why should it be anyone's business whom she married? It didn't matter but what did matter to her was what her son thought.

"I'm very happy for you, mother."

His mother put up her hand, "No. No. Tell me what's really on your mind."

Matthew tried to sit silently, continuing to eat his food, but it suddenly felt like it was hardening in his throat and difficult to swallow, till he could no longer take it. He got up, taking his plate with him. Mary and Clarkson noticed his gait was more prominent than usual.

"I should..." Clarkson made a move to get up.

"No, don't bother. Let him go." The frustration showed in Mary's voice. She didn't make an attempt to try to hide it. "He'll be fine. Let him brood for a while."

Matthew entered the children's dining room and sat down with them. They didn't seem to care about what was proper. They loved that their papa was joining them. The nanny gave him a sour look, shaking her head disapprovingly. He didn't care. No one was going to tell him what he could or couldn't do with his children, how or when to spend time with them. Right now he felt like he was being treated by a kid, he might as well join them anyway. The older ones started flicking food off each other's plates when they were bored and could no longer eat. Instead of scolding them for it, he took part. The children were running and ducking around the room, the table, trying to dodge their father's aim, from where he sat. Katie had crawled under the table. She squealed with laughter as he ducked his head under, and she crawled back out, fast enough so that he narrowly missed her. He aimed at George but it missed and hit Josephine instead, a direct hit at the back of her head. Everything went dead quiet.

"My hair! Look at my hair!" Josephine complained. But at the sight of her older brother, at the mess, she burst into uncontrollable laughter.

They all started laughing. He hadn't laughed that hard in a long time.

* * *

She doesn't speak of her late first husband very often but his name does come. Richard didn't like it when she did so. He wouldn't argue. Instead he'd just stop whatever he was doing and frown. He hardly ever spoke of his late wife. He doesn't like talking about the past and likes focusing on the future.

"You never get over the loss, you just learn to cope with it better over time." He had lost his wife to a debilitating disorder, the disease that affected her mind. She would lie in bed and not eat for days. Her feelings of being 'a failure' triggered it, the death of her mother from pneumonia when she was seven had attributed to it, from whom she had felt inherited the same illness. Not much was understood about it then. He should have been there and reassured her.

"The guilt, however unwarranted, is relentless. It doesn't matter how much I know intellectually that it was not my fault, there is something at the heart of me that believes if I'd maybe told her I loved her more or noticed some small sign, anything._"_ Perhaps that was why he had wanted to help Matthew, however he could, to tell someone, what he hadn't been able to tell his wife, not just because he was the son of the woman he loved.

"That's why you've been helping him." She was suspicious. It didn't really make sense if his only intention to marry her was to stay close to Matthew or that he felt guilty that he couldn't do anything to help his first wife when she had been ill, and Matthew was his way of making up for it.

"It is my oath as a doctor."

"You're not a doctor any longer." It still didn't sound feasible in her mind. She didn't believe that was the only reason. She just wanted to hear him say it.

"I still am to the family. It's like second nature to me."

"As it was with Reggie." Richard gave that frown. It wasn't intentional. He was thinking deeply. She wanted to get his mind off it. "And with me." She added. "And Matthew is the same with his law career. I'm so glad that he hadn't given it up." It had helped distract him from his own thoughts and had constructed a way for him to help others without being reckless. He had been born with that in him but for a time after the war, after his recovery, it had become increasingly more so. That had also changed once he was able to bond with his son.

It had been the best thing for him. Clarkson agreed. Most soldiers had had no jobs to come back to, most of which had been farmers or laborers. He didn't have it the worst. He had become the Crawley family's physician, not long after the death of his wife, Dody. He filled in the position after the previous doctor had retired. He had assisted the birth of the three Crawley daughters, Mary, Edith, and Sybil, Sybil's child and Mary and Matthew's first three children. He had enjoyed being in the heart of a happy home and family, in those hours. But then it had all ended, and he would go back to his life again. When Matthew had been injured in the war, he had seen the chance that he could do more. Though at times his bedside manner had been less than acceptable; he had not wanted to get too close to his patient.

Matthew had overcome so much while medical opinion would say that he should he dead, while society would suggest that he should be locked up. He had seen individuals that had physical and mental issues discarded by their family members or thrown into institutions because they had different opinions, whose families and society saw fit to do away with them. Things were starting to change but it wouldn't change enough, he felt, at least in his and Matthew's lifetime. That was still very far away. He could do some good while he was here.

"He is very fortunate to have a family like his. And to have a mother like you." Then he said something even more moving to her. "A man my age usual gets married because he is lonely. We are both people who have lost so much, had been through so much." It was so much more to it than just being a doctor. He now got the chance to have something that was taken from him. He had lost a future with his first wife. Unable to have children had sent her into a deeper depression. If his hypothesis was right that his first wife had inherited it from her mother, their child or children they would have had would have had the same illness too. Perhaps he was projecting. Did he think that marrying Isobel was a mistake? No. They had both been looking for friendship and found love. It was a bit difficult to tell her that since he had just not so long ago reopened his heart. But he was willing to try, if she was. "But that is not the reason I married you Isobel. I thought I could benefit your life and reasoned that you could benefit mine but that does not encompass the depth and complexity of the real motivation for me to marry."

"I understand what you are saying. I'm still worried how Matthew is taking all this."

"Matthew is a grown man, and he's more than accepting."

"How do you know?"

"I've talked to him about it."

"You have? When?"

"A week before I proposed."

She was utterly surprised, her heart opening even greater for him. Asking her son his permission if he could marry her, her respect for him grew, in the highest regard. "I don't know what to say, other than I'm grateful. You've been more than just a doctor to him."

"I suppose I feel some sort of responsibility. I care about Matthew because he is a part of you, Isobel. And I think in some way he knows that."

"He hasn't had a father in a long time. He had barely just became a man when he died." At eighteen one became legally an adult. His father was supposed to be the one to tell him about women. He had been extremely embarrassed when it had fallen on her, the day of his wedding, more so at having to explain that he knew about the male and female anatomy. Although she didn't have to explain the majority of the details, as he had read his father's medical books growing up, especially after Reggie had died. He'd read them religiously just as much as his father's bible. He had no interest in the medical field, like they had someday hoped. Now, looking back, all of that looked so small, wanting their dreams carried on by their son. She was content with his choice of career and was proud of the man he had become.

The night before his wedding she had come to talk to him about what to expect in married life. He walked past her in the hallway.

_"Ah, mother you're still here. I was just about to return to Crawley house. I just came from Mary's room. Had to get some things squared away last minute."_

_ "Isn't that bad luck?" _

_"Don't worry, she made sure I didn't look." He smiled like the cat ate the canary. _

_"I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you before I give up away." His smile grew with her sentiment. "I suppose you know what comes after..." He was shifting uncomfortably on the inside. _

_"I am familiar. You know I used to read father's books." He paused for a moment. _

_"Come, let's find somewhere we can sit down." _

_They found an unoccupied bedroom._

_"I don't think much of that matters." He said. "I don't know if I can..." _

_"You've spoken to Doctor Jacobson about it, that is was possible." She reminded him._

_ He was growing agitated. "Look, I don't want to talk about this."_

_"Whatever he has to say..."_

_"It's rare but he thinks I can."_

_"You'll just have to try. It takes time. You have to be patient and don't be anxious. That's an enemy to pregnancy. It'd be the same if you weren't..."_

_"Crippled?"_

_"You know how much I hate that word and how much I hate when you say it."_

_"But it's true, and you were thinking it."_

_"Everything will fall into place. You will see." She squeezed his arm, "I wish the very best for you, my boy."_

He had defeated all odds, and had given her six grandchildren. He had been defeating all the odds since the beginning. In medical opinion he should not have survived and should have died from infection, not long after his injury. But there had been better plans for him. He had been saved, returned to her by God. HE had blessed her son with the life he so long deserved. The only thing missing was Reggie. Richard would be the one the children knew as Grandfather. Matthew probably had conflicting emotions.

Richard gave a small nod. "I don't think that he's thinking about that, that I'm trying to or will replace him."

"No." No one would replace Reginald. That didn't mean that she loved Richard any less. This was new, different. Not in a bad way. It was welcoming. He'd been so good to Matthew. "I'm afraid I was rather harsh on him at dinner."

"You were worried. It will take him some time getting used to." He'll never replace his father, and would never be seen as such. Matthew was the son he would have had. He believed that their talks had truly helped him.

_March 1922_

_"Your mother tells me you haven't been to see your son." He hadn't known then but he had put it together. He had been more worried of what kind of father he'd be, rather than how his debilitating condition would affect his ability to be one, now that he was a changed man. A lot of soldiers hadn't came back quite the same._

_" I know I should be feeling overwhelmed with joy as any new father should."_

_"You don't?" Matthew eyed him wearily. "Whatever you say to me will be off the record. It does not leave this room, no matter how much your mother tries to badger me."_

_"Mary does most of the badgering."_

_"That may be true. But we're not here to discuss them. We're here to discuss you." He looked into his patient's eyes, that now looked despondent. "Matthew I cannot help you if you don't talk to me."_

_"It feels like it's not my life. That I don't deserve..."_

_"To live?" Matthew was hesitant to answer. "Have you ever thought of hurting yourself, taking your own life?"_

_"No, I would never do that to Mary...to Mother. And now with..." He didn't even know his son's name._

_Clarkson believed he wouldn't do it now but he at least had to have thought about it at one point._

_"I haven't..." He swallowed. Then he continued on as if in a casual conversation. "This life...it's like I'm living somebody else's. When I look in the mirror, it isn't me. The man I used to be. He isn't there. He's gone. I feel like I'm pretending, that I'm wearing a mask. And if I look too long I can see it...slip." He sat back in his chair. "I have no desire to attend social events in any context whatsoever, but I'm not depressed or sad. To me people appear to be performing, if that makes sense and I feel uncomfortable because I can see it. Does this happen to everyone when they turn forty?"_

_Clarkson knew he was trying to distract him, but he had to smile. "Approaching forty. Almost thirty-seven."_

_"I feel much older." He intertwined his fingers, and turned his head away for a few moments. "No one's told me what it actually is. The shell shock. I know it's not caused by actual shells."_

_"No. Some still do but I believe it was what you saw. You couldn't cope with it."_

_"You think my mind wasn't strong enough? That I was weak and fragile?" He felt insulted at what he thought Clarkson was suggesting._

_"No. Of course not. It just proves that you're human. It's part of the human condition, trying to cope with the traumatic events that you experienced. It takes time for others to process what they went through."_

_"How much longer will it take to recover?" _

_"We know as much about shell shock as we did four years ago. It's still a new field."_

_"You've told me more than anyone else has. They feel I'm too delicate, with my condition. I still feel like a part of me is missing. Like a part of me died back there, in France. I supposed every soldier feels that way."_

_"I'm sure they do."_

_"Will I...will I always feel like this?"_

_"It's hard to tell."_

_Matthew rubbed his eyes, tired of Clarkson dancing around the hoops. He wasn't going to wait any longer. He was anxious to get it over with but at the same time gripped with fear, like he was delaying the inevitable. "Just tell me." He shouted. Clarkson didn't answer, just waited for him to relax. Matthew leaned back further still in his chair, inhaling and exhaling to calm himself, once he was, he spoke, "I kept waiting...for it to come back. The man who I...was. A part of me is convinced that it won't. I just need to hear it."_

_"It is like any other disease. It might go into remission for years but it's still there." The unseen damage, the distorted thoughts, telling yourself you're worthless, a failure, will always be there. _

_"I will always be like this." It was a statement, not a question. An answer he already knew. Why had he bothered to hope? It had been foolish._

_"Yes. You will have this for the rest of your life. But with talking and exercise can help, to distract the mind, the effects could lessen over time..."_

_His eyes watered. He had this look in them like he had just given him a terminal diagnosis._

_"...and with support." Clarkson continued, you can move on with your life. And learn to accept the man that you are now."_

_"I understand. Thank you."_

That had been five years ago. He had made excellent progress since then. But he would have to watch closely, the changes in the recent dynamic could lead to a set back. What he had worked hard for, to keep Matthew stable, could all be undone, and by his own doing.

* * *

"I'm sorry I was never the perfect Mother to you." She had caught him right before he went to bed.

He gave a groan, "if you're going to guilt trip me, why did you come up here in the first place?"

"No. I truly do mean it. You and Mary are still going through a difficult time losing a child, I know how that is." She watched as he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows and the covers. He was distracting himself. She knew her son's habits well. "She tells me you've been doing so well. But you don't have to shoulder all the burden. If there's anything I can do to help, to lift some of the weight."

"Did you really think that's all it is?"

She shifted the conversation. "She's truly fond of Clarkson."

"Her opinion is biased within itself. I wouldn't be as far as I am now, if it weren't for him. With the children, don't get me wrong, they are a blessing, but if it weren't for him I'd have gone insane."

"Matthew, that isn't something to joke about."

"Why? You expect me to fall apart every time my life gets disrupted."

"No, of course not."

"I have a solution for that, at least I've been thinking about it."

"Sit, let's have a talk about it." She sat down at the edge of the bed. He joined her, deciding he didn't have much choice.

"I thought about us getting out of the country for a bit. Mary and I. I think we need some time away, just the two of us. It's been so long since it's been the two of us." He finally turned to his mother. "And while we're away I'd like for you and Clarkson to watch over the children, so that they can bond."

"Are you sure? What about their nannies?"

"You have permission to dismiss them if you see fit. They need to get to know their grandparents." He didn't acknowledge the misstep.

_ Grandparents. Not Grandmother. Did that mean that he was really accepting of her and Richard's union. _She had to ask, not quite believing her ears. "You're alright, with everything? If you disapprove of my marriage to Richard, you won't hurt my feelings."

"It's not that I don't disapprove." He felt like he didn't belong in their life, that there was no place for him. He was a grown man for goodness sake, but he hadn't ever had enough time with her. He'd be away at boarding school, or stayed with neighbors, while they were volunteering in the Boer war. It was selfish and childish. Still he felt there was so much he had missed with her.

"But?" She enquired, sensing he was hanging back.

"Mother, I don't want us to fight. It seems...I don't want to sound selfish but when I was injured you made time for me, and when I was...sick. Now we don't have anytime together, either. After Mary and I come back, I'd like us to make time for us. Get to know each other again."

"Of course."

He leaned into her and gave her a hug. It surprised her, for a moment. Then she returned the embrace. Her hugs were not distant as they had been in the past. This one was not filled with sympathy and pity as the one he received after his injury. He could feel her love and her apology in this one, flowing through him, as if it had the power to heal.

"I wish I had been the parent you needed and deserved." He could hear the tears in her voice.

"You can start now. We have the rest of our lives."

"Don't make the same mistakes with your own children."

"I won't." He could feel the tears sting his eyes. _Don't break down. Don't break down. _He managed control over himself as she pulled away.

She put a hand to his face. _My sweet boy. _

"I was so afraid to lose you, like I had the others. My own fear and grief prevented me from being a good mother to you. Then your father died and you were doing so well for yourself. I thought, He doesn't need me. When you were paralyzed with no hope of walking again...I thought, this is my second chance, he needs me now. Then when you could walk, you and Mary found each other again. Now you have a family of your own, you don't need me."

"I will always need you mother."

"Not always. But we must do ours best."

He nodded in agreement, "Yes, we must."

* * *

Her daddy has nightmares sometimes.

She climbed onto his bed and curl up on his chest. His Josephine. She could make him smile, but in a way the others couldn't. This special smile was reserved for her, it did something to his eyes, it made them sparkle, like rippling pools or a tide. And then the tide would wash away what was there in his eyes.

_Please don't go, daddy._

* * *

Mary had finally come out of her haze after the first six months. She had spent too long in the world of the dead. She told him. It was time to rejoin the living.

In March of 1927, nearly a year after the loss of their child, they planned a trip to Paris. To focus on themselves and make up for the time they had missed together. Mary was concerned for him. If it could be a good idea. He still had nightmares at least once every few months. It'd been ten years since he'd been back there.

He'd never been in Paris during the war. He said to her. "I always wanted to go to Paris to take you dancing. Not for the food. I don't think I'd pretty much like it."

"And what would we be doing besides dancing?"

"I'd stay in bed with you."

"Very tempting."

"So that's a yes? Before you answer I already booked us the trip." They would be staying at the Ritz. Matthew had such glamorous taste. Why not, he could afford it.

Not long after they got back from their trip from Paris, Mary discovered yet again she was pregnant with their last child. Another girl. Caroline, who would later go by Carrie, but she was always Caroline to her Papa. She was blonde haired and blue eyed just like her father and her sister Kate, and brother Andy.

One evening, two months into her pregnancy, Mary was becoming a bit anxious.

"This hopefully will be our last one." She said.

"Are you sure about that?" He said, smiling, a smug expression on his face. "You know I can't keep my hands off you."

"You'll just have to. I'm not getting any younger. Just think, seven month! He or she will have the same birth month as Josephine."

"I bet she'll enjoy that!" Josephine was always demanding sole attention.

"Speaking of birthday's. Andy's is coming up and yours! After his party, I was planning on something special for us. Maybe dinner or a show. Just no birthday sex for you." She gave him a mischievous look she hoped he would return. He wore no expression at all.

"I don't want to celebrate."

They both fell into a dreaded silence. Of course he wouldn't want to celebrate his own birthday.

"We'll at least have to for Andy. Rose wants to rent him a pony." She carried on, something undistinguished, Matthew wasn't paying attention to... "I told her what would a one year old possibly do with a pony..."

"I hope it's a girl." He said. "I know it won't replace Beth but..."

"Is that what you named her?" They had never discussed it._ Baby Crawley 1926 Precious daughter and sister, for ever an angel,_ had just gone on her stone marker. Perhaps it had been too painful for him then.

He duly nodded. "Abigail Elizabeth Crawley. I was just thinking Beth. Abbey would be a bit too ironic. We haven't put her name officially on her gravestone." He played with the glass in his hand, the liquid swirling around but he does not look at it. He's not looking directly at her. She cannot read the expression in his eyes. "We can do that for her birthday. After the party, which would be a weekend." Sunday at the beginning of the week would be fitting.

"That's right." She didn't want to talk about it. It felt kind of morbid. Though Beth Crawley would be nice instead of just baby. It would be easier to change than buying a new one.

"I think I'm going to turn in." He started getting up from his chair.

"Are you..?" She was going to ask him if he was sure he didn't want her to do anything special for him for his birthday. She devised against it because she immediately knows his answer won't change.

He did not answer her, just made his way to the bed and pulled back the covers. It was like he was sleepwalking. _He's trying to not let himself feel or most of all think._

"You're not coming down for dinner then?"

He shook his head. "Maybe later. Tell them I'm tired." Which was true.

_"_I'll have a tray brought up for you. Get some rest._" A good night's sleep will do him good._ Her Matthew Crawley will awake from hibernation. She excited the room.

* * *

He found himself lying on the bathroom floor. He couldn't recall how he got there. Then it all came back. Stewart, Edwards. Patrick. William.

His baby girl dead in his arms.

The next thing he knew, Clarkson was holding him as uncontrollable sobs wracked his body. He doesn't know why. Grieving for his daughter, who would be a year old now? Or the shell shock that had been in remission for so long, decided to rear it's ugly head. Or both? He doesn't want to go back, where it is like constantly snapping from one reality to another. He has to be here, for his children.

He took gasping breaths. It was difficult to breath. Fear looming over him. He thought he was dying.

"Breath. Just breath."

He started to relax, taking slow in-takes of air. "Don't tell mother." He mutters, his words a little slurred by his tears, Mary."

"I'm afraid I have to."

Clarkson led him to his bed. He felt like he was half awake. He climbed into the bed and lied down. "I'm going to give you something that'll help."

* * *

"Isobel. I need to speak to you about Matthew." He looked anxiously between his wife and step daughter in-law.

"Is he alright?" Isobel asked. "It's not his health?

"He's not coming down with something is he?" Mary voiced her own concern. "I told him to wear extra layers when he went out." She was joking now, an attempt not to show more worry than she led on. Clarkson exchanged glances with Isobel. "Whatever it is you can say in front of me." Mary said. "I am his wife."

"He's had an episode."

"It's been years." Isobel was taken aback by the news and yet she felt that she should have expected it, at least had known. Given the number of episodes he had had a few years after the war ended. She had been in denial, thinking that they would just go away for ever, she had just said that to the board, that he needed her care in case of a relapse, so they would not have to transfer. The episodes had come back in those years whenever he was under a great deal of stress. It had appeared that he had been holding it together this past year, when in reality she should have known that he really hadn't been. He had just been distracting himself from his own grief and it had finally caught up with him. She's aware of her head moving up and down to her husband's words, though it's almost as if she has no control, what her very own son must feel, and she had failed to see it.

"It's like any other disease, that can go into remission for years. And it can relapse. It's a disease of the mind. He's otherwise healthy but this...it's like scar tissue."

The two women avoid looking at each other, not wanting to reveal to each other how they thought they had failed. Mary for a different reason, but for Isobel, as a mother.

"I've given him a sedative to calm him. He's resting now."

"I'll see to him now, unless..." _His wife should see him first. _She turned to Mary.

"No, Isobel, go. I'll see him later." She took a second. "In the meantime I'll go see what the children are up to. Some of them must be up past their bedtime. Nanny might need a hand to get them rounded up."

Isobel walked in slowly, her feet shuffling on the carpet.

"Are you...are you wake?" She made her way to the side of the bed and reached out for his hand. "Matthew?" He did not stir or respond. What ever Richard had given him had been strong. She should be angry that he'd given him a sedative without her permission. But it must have been bad. He had been given relief. Would it only last till it wore off? She reached out and took his hand, stroking it with her fingers. Somewhere in his drug induced sleep he had to know that she was there for him.

* * *

He had awoken from a nightmare when she entered the bedroom. He had been asleep for hours. The sedative must have worn off.

"Are you...?" Mary couldn't find the word. Of course he wasn't alright. She had never seen him this bad.

He couldn't answer her, still breathing heavily. He waited till it subsided. "I don't want the children to see me like this. Tell them I'm ill."

She nodded. She closed the door gently behind her. She should be used to this. But it hadn't happened since George was born, almost six years. Why now after all this time?

"Did I cause this?" She asked Clarkson, whom she now considered a father in-law. He had taken good care of Matthew over the years, even now, when he was retired. "Maybe I shouldn't have let him convince me to go to Paris. I should have tried harder."

"I believe France had nothing to do with this. It's been almost a year since the loss of your child. In all that time he's been taking too much on, looking after your children, shouldering that responsibility, he didn't allow himself to grieve."

"So, this is my fault." Spending time away from her own family, dealing with her grief alone. They should have grieved together.

"I'm not saying that."

"I was talking about our son's birthday."

"It could have been any number of things."

"But you just said..."

"It's just a belief."

He went to check on Matthew, "how are you feeling?"

"My whole body aches and my head."

"It's from flexing your muscles too long. Adrenaline kicks in the fight or flight response."

"Can you stop being a doctor for five minutes?"

"Sorry. It's easier for me. It's become a habit of mine."

"Since when?"

"Since my wife died."

"Your first wife."

"She suffered with something similar. There were days she would stay in bed, wouldn't eat. She got sick because she wouldn't take care of herself. Pneumonia. I wished I had told her that she wasn't a failure, that she was needed."

"Is that why you took a fascination in me? By looking after me, I'm sort of an extension of her? I'm some sort of replacement? The son you would have had. Well I'm nothing like her."

"No. You're not. I care for your well being because I love your mother and you are her son. I think of you as a son."

* * *

He's sitting in an armchair near the fire.

"Five years. It's been five years." He said it in a way as if he hadn't expected it, that he had hoped that they wouldn't come back. He shakes his head back and forth. No matter how much he half expected it, it still came as a surprise, a blow.

"I know." She kneeled beside him. Five years since his last episode. He had described it to her before. It had been like a waiting game, wondering what would set him off, when the nightmares would come.

He had to wear a mask so no one would see. That was what she had to do. Y_ou have to put the mask on yourself, to be strong for them. _ In the beginning, the first few years, he hadn't felt he was deserving of love, or even remotely lovable. She had wanted to show him love can conquer all of that, love could help him reinforce and reinstate a healthy lifestyle. _As heartbreaking as it is to admit, love often doesn't conquer all._ This realisation came in waves. Her love or the love of his children could not heal him. There is no help for him. _It's an illusion, this idea that we can save people. The least we can do for him is help ease his pain. _

"I know." She repeated.

"Clarkson explained it to me." He sounded far away. He wasn't ready for this again. She sat with him, holding his hand. He just needed her here. He said nothing more.

* * *

While he had been asleep she had explained it to the children. She had rounded them up. Like she had expected they had been unruly towards bedtime, running round the nursery. Their noise could wake their father and set off another episode. But he was heavily sedated, she reminded herself. She got them to quiet down, telling them, "I need to tell you all something, something very important. So I need you all to listen." and they all had gathered around her like she was going to tell them a story.

"Are you going to tell us a story? I like it better when Papa tells us stories." Katie said, oblivious to the seriousness.

Mary shook her head. "Papa is really ill right now."

"Is he going to die?" The little girl asked.

"What? Of course not. Your Papa, he's been in a war. Do anyone know what a war is?"

"A war is when people hurt each other. They fight over who gets more land." George said. "But why would Papa be in a war? Papa would never want to hurt anyone."

"Your Papa didn't want to. It was what he had to do. And what he saw hurt him so...Sometimes he still thinks of the war and he gets sad or he gets scared."

"Like when he has nightmares." Josephine said.

Mary was puzzled as to how she knew this. Quickly she recovered. "Yes. Just like when he has nightmares. But they can happen during the day. When that happens, if he gets scared I want you to come get me or an adult you can trust, like Granny Isobel."

"Or Grandpapa Clarkson? He's a doctor." Katie stated enthusiastically.

"Yes. Him too."

"I didn't know grown ups can get scared too." George slightly frowned at this new information.

"Grown ups can get scared too. But I want you all to know this, that doesn't mean your papa is any less brave. He is so very brave. And he's a hero."

"That's better than any fairy tale I read." Katie said.

"You can't even read." Josephine took a jab at her. "I already knew that papa was a hero. Besides fairy tales aren't real."

"Yes they are. Prince and princesses are real. Papa is a knight." They all start arguing.

"No. He's an Earl." George said.

"Not yet." Josephine corrected.

"He will be someday and so will I."

"Nuh uh, you can't both be Earl at the same time, not till papa dies." Josephine said.

Katie starts bawling now, fearful. "I don't want Papa to die."

"Now all of you," Mary raised her voice above theirs. "it's quite enough of that. It's time for bed." She picks up Kate. Andy, who had surprisingly slept through the whole thing, starts to cry himself. "Papa is not going to die." She calms her youngest daughter, not for a very long time yet."

"You have to wait a long time before 'you' become prince of the castle." Josephine had a smug grin.

"Please, will you all be quiet? I have to get Andy settled back down. That means I have to walk him around the estate for hours. Now get in to bed. I won't tell you all again. You'll need your sleep for tomorrow. I want you all your best."

They went to bed like good little children that they were raised to be.

* * *

That morning Matthew came down for breakfast. He was himself again as Mary had expected.

"I'm glad you're feeling well papa." Josephine said.

And he was. Until Andy's birthday.

Josephine had been hiding under the table from her siblings. She also often hide there so she could listen to the adult conversations, she often enjoyed them. She couldn't wait till she was old enough to join them. She saw that Papa was still sitting at the table, she could tell by his shoes. She smiled and crawled over. A fork fell from the table and she picked it up, tapping it on his shoe. He did not respond. She came out, between the table and his legs. He was staring, like he was asleep with his eyes open.

"Papa." She said worriedly when he did not answer. She put her hand to his cheek. It was then he slowly awakened.

"Josephine."

"Were you having a nightmare?" She asked him.

"I...yes."

"Do you want me to get mama?"

"No. Don't get your mother."

"It's alright now, Papa. Nightmares can't hurt you."

They didn't tell Mama. It would be their secret.

That same night George had witnessed one of his episodes. The next few days since then, George didn't ask about it, nor did the other children, either they hadn't noticed or were to young too. He didn't have anymore after that nor for many years to follow. All was well.

* * *

_1929_

Matthew smiled as the seven of them walked through the lobby of the Ritz. It had become the place where the family stayed on Holiday.

When the Crawley family entered a room, all heads turned their way. In awe at the beautiful family and perhaps envious. It was the year Matthew had never experienced such wedded bliss as this.

The blonde haired, blue eyes children he had imagined, except for Josephine, who was the image of her mother with her dark hair and dark eyes, and George with his blonde hair and brown eyes, who was the image of him, the oldest, the Viscount Downton. He had his mother's passion for riding horses. Andy was terrified of them. Mary had tried to get Rose to take him up on getting used to them. Matthew never understood their fascination with horses. George didn't share anything else with his mother. He shared more in common with his father and had his initiative for an eight year old. Josephine "Jo", she now liked to be called, was seven, who was like her mother in more ways than just looks. Katie was six. Andy was four and Caroline was two. The apple of her father's eye. Jo was often jealous. It reminder Mary of how her relationship was Edith growing up. The sisters had found common ground and she hoped that for her daughters. Edith was married to Bertie Pelham, the Marquess of Hexham. She would sometimes stay in the flat above her newspaper. Living close by, George often liked to go visit his Auntie. He had overheard his Uncle Bertie one day that they might one day loose the estate. George had said that they could live at Downton with him when he was Earl. Even when he had a family of his own one day, he wouldn't turn out his favorite Aunt. His sisters teased him relentlessly over this. Andy showed no interest or jealousy of his brother's future Earldom, of course he was still four.

It was an innocent time. It was the happiest time of their lives.

Then years later, no one would predict that they'd be once more on the verge of war, George eager to enlist once he'd turned eighteen, and Andy would soon join behind him. Nor could they predict the tragedy that would threaten to ravage the beautiful family.

* * *

_**AN: I know this chapter is short but I had to get it done and out there. I might change or add a few things later, to build on the story. I wanted some happiness for Mary and Matthew. **_


	8. Shattered Peace 1929-1939

_Chapter Seven: Shattered Peace 1929-1939_

Description: Life is changing as the Crawley's move up in the world. Matthew becomes Earl and Mary the Countess of Grantham and Honorable George becomes Viscount Downton. As the 1930's draw to a close, Europe is on the brink of war. Matthews fears come to fruition. George wants to enlist once he is eighteen, Mary advises against it until he is called. Andy wants to follow his older brother.

* * *

In November of 1929 the Earl of Grantham had succumbed to a heart attack. He had fallen asleep at his desk. Matthew was now Earl, but he seemed indifferent to it. Mary had thought they were close. Somewhere along the line they must had drifted apart but they at least found some common ground like she had with Edith. She had the feeling that it wasn't mutual, that her father had still thought of him as son right up until the end. Edith and Bertie were still living at Brancaster Castle with their one year old son, Jay. But since Robert's death they scarcely saw much of each other, other than visiting the castle annually on holidays.

When Jay was older, school age, and was home from term, Matthew, George, and Jo, along with Sybie would come to stay at the castle. Jay had a close bond with the three of his cousins, mostly looking up to George. As a young child Jay was unable to say Sybie's name, calling her Sissy and it had stuck.

The first holiday had been hard without Robert. And it was still rather strange hearing people call Matthew Lord Grantham. The family had been living in London for a few years, when they had gotten the news.

Matthew had thought the move would be a good change. Couldn't they find somewhere else? She had asked. The constant rainy weather would be murder on his back. He'd have to take something for the pain everyday.

His response had been, "_A small price to pay, my love. It's England, it's always raining somewhere,_ _unless you want to move to America."_

_Over my dead body._ Mary had thought. And so she had no choice but to agree.

Mary, Matthew and Tom would still manage the estate, before it became George's. Tom would frequently travel up to London with Sybie, who was now eight. She was quite a few years apart from her other cousins for them to bond sufficiently, but she always remained close with George, who was nine months younger. With her cousin Josephine, there was a year difference. Despite being closer in age than the other girls, she would think that Josephine was too much of a 'cold fish' as she got older, which she would tell no one else. But she would tease about it with George.

_"Don't give her a hard time. It's just an act."_ He'd tell her in their teenage years. She'd given him a look that said that she didn't quite believe him.

She'd spend summers with the Crawley's and would occasionally go with them to Paris. She had enjoyed coming up to London, not just to see George. Uncle Matthew was like a second father to her. Her father and Uncle Matthew had decided it would be easier for her father to take the trip to London, so Matthew wouldn't have to travel to Yorkshire. He would have to use his wheelchair. She had vague memories of riding around in it, sitting on his lap. Occasionally she and her father would be in London at the same time Uncle Matthew's mother, when she came to visit. Sybie would enjoy long talks with her, even when she was older. Isobel and Clarkson would come to visit quite often.

A few days after Robert's death Granny Violet had accompanied him in the library. The villagers and fellow mourners offered their condolences, announcing him as Lord Grantham as they left.

_Lord Grantham._

As she saw him there, standing tall, she had no doubt that he'd make a great Earl. He would go down in history as one of the best.

"The path ahead must be clear. You must take charge at once." She had said to him. "I know it's a lot to ask."

He stopped her, protesting. "According to your son, I was bloody useless. And he's right. No one wants the leader of this county to be a cripple."

"My dear boy, you give yourself far less credit. He liked the changes you have made. And don't you owe it to him to keep making those changes, preserve them? If not for him, for your children, and theirs? You have the potential to keep making Downton great. With your strive and devotion, and your kind heart, you will go down as of the greatest Earl's of Grantham that this village had ever had. I know you will."

As Mary listened to their exchange, she knew it too.

He was still shocked by the sudden death, they all were. Perhaps the estate was proving more work to transfer than he had anticipated. He would always bury himself in his work when something was bother him, just as her father had.

Rachel would still live at Downton with them and with Tom and Sybie. She had wanted them to stay after Mary and Matthew had moved out with their children. It would only be right if they still stayed now, though she was thinking of moving to a smaller house in the village. Mary told her that it was nonsense, that she could continue to stay here. Rachel had moved out anyway. It had caused a bit of a divide between her and Mary. She could prefer to go see her mother in-law often instead. Her step-mother had become a shell of herself and wasn't easy to be around. She had only liked her for her father's sake. That wasn't true of course. Mary had just been putting up her defenses.

In truth, she was glad that Rachel had decided not to live at the Abbey. There were to many ghosts. She didn't need anymore living ones.

Sybie would often join Mary on her visits to Crawley House along with Matthew. Sunday tea wasn't restricted to just him and his mother anymore. He quite actually enjoyed it, just as much as Mary, watching how their niece would talk with her Auntie Isobel, watching their niece grow into an individual with her own thoughts and independence. She was like a miniature adult. And they couldn't wait for their own children to start to catch up, to have identities of their own. But also hoping they wouldn't grow up too fast. They would let them be kids for a while.

In early 1937, Clarkson fell ill. Matthew wanted to be closer to his mother. Her health soon took a turn thereafter and at the age of eighty-three, Matthew's mother passed, not long after Clarkson. He had made his mother happy. The fact that they had died a few months apart had surprised Matthew, showing how much they truly had loved each other, and couldn't live without one another. It hadn't been that way for his mother and father, or so it had appeared. Perhaps his mother had found the strength then, to go on living for him. Now he had a family of his own, she decide not to stay. He didn't need her anymore. And he was sad, angry with himself that it was true. He wondered if that would be the same for him and Mary, if he were to die. How long could she live without him? Mary was six years younger than him and he hoped she would have many more years after his death.

He hadn't thought much of his mortality since he had survived the war, the bleak period of time he wished he hadn't lived and when he had reached his forties, which they had been told would have been his life span. But the doctors had been wrong as always. That didn't rule out that he was at risk of pneumonia or some sort of infection, that would likely be the cause of his demise.

Mary was terribly worried. She always seemed worried about him. On top of that he knows how she must be thinking how hard he must be taking it, his mother's death. He says he's fine.

Matthew was curiously silent most of the time. He still grieved understandably for an extended period of time. As a child does for their parent. Matthew and his mother had become closer in the past ten years, that had made it harder for him. After four months, he decided he must rejoin the world again, or it will move on without him. He had to think of his children, his wife who loved him.

They were packing away his mother's things.

"She had lived a full life, as anyone would have hoped for." He told Mary. "Grief never ends, it just changes. Grief doesn't know the passage of time. It's a passage we all must walk through. It's the price of love." Praying he wouldn't be here, when his children had to experience it. "The people we love are only on loan."

"That's a bit harsh." Mary blinked her eyes back at him.

"The world is a harsh place." Even after a war, they still had no idea how much harsher it could be.

Then in 1939 at the age of ninety-nine, death finally came for the Dowager Countess. It had seemed that she would live forever. But everything and everyone has it's time. The time belonging to the last generation was over, it was now the next generation's time and the generation to follow. Their children would soon be approaching adulthood and the years to come, they would have to grow up fast.

They wouldn't be taking their annual trip to Paris that year, nor had they two years previous, due to the tensions between France and Germany. The younger children, Andy and Caroline, were upset, not understanding the dangers of it as the older children did. George thought it could lead to war. Matthew didn't believe there would be one. Then on 1 September, 1939 war was declared all over Europe. He hated that he had been wrong but that wasn't what was troubling him, going through it all again, his sons being the most at risk. If it were to go on for some years.

There was talk about it everywhere you went in the small village. It was all anyone seemed to talk about.

The morning after the announcement, breakfast was awkwardly quiet. The silence was unbearable to Josephine. Somebody had to say something. She hated total silence. Growing up with a lot of siblings, surrounded constantly by chatter, sounds of various playthings, thuds, thumps, squeals and laughter. If all was quiet, it usually meant something wasn't right. Silence brings up a lot of "what-ifs.' And she liked to say what was on her mind.

"I wish I was a man." Everyone looked at Jo, so she finished, "so I could join the fight."

"Be lucky you're not." Matthew stated. "No one is joining..."

"I thought of enlisting." George cut across. "I'm turning eighteen in a few weeks. I want to serve my country. Do my duty."

"For honor and glory and all that?" Andy showed clear interest.

"It will be over by Christmas." George sounded cheerful. "So don't you be getting any ideas." His voice now sounded scolding. He always too initiative when it came to his little brother. George thought he would be more promising, and fitted for Earldom, then he would be. It was up to him to set a good example.

"I might." Andy challenged. "That's what they said about the last one." He doubted his older brother.

Their voices broke off as their father got up from his chair, the legs stretching across the floor.

* * *

Through the crack of the door she sees him reach for something, as quickly as he can move, before moving out of view. He's sitting on the bed when she enters.

"It'll be worse than that last one." He grumbled. She hadn't seen him in one of these moods in a long time. Since the last war.

"Why do you say that?" Mary asked, a false smile fluttered to her lips, attempting to hide any other emotion.

"More ways too kill each other." He said bluntly.

"You've been listening to the wireless?" She went over to it. She could faintly hear the static. Reaching for the knob she turned it off. He had tried to. She knows. He hadn't wanted her listening to it or had he not wanted her to catch him listening?

He stayed silent and looked out the window. It had started to rain. She knows his joints would be aching and stiff. She would have to give him something later for the pain. But this was an inner turmoil that could not be dulled.

"You know what I still think sometimes when it rains?" He asked, still watching the drops as the pounded the window. "Everything still burns after the shelling's stopped. You think the crops would stop burning when it rained." Crops was a lighter term than saying corpses.

"It must have been terrible for the farmers." She had no clue.

He looked at her. "I can't...I can't bear to lose them, not just the boys. I don't want them to go through all that." _War changes everything, till it's almost unrecognisable_. He had because of it. Mary still loved the man he'd become but he'd always felt that a part of her still mourned for the man she had lost. Would he be able to recognize their children after this? If he lived to see the end of it? His body felt older, thanks to his old war wounds, both mental and physical that had never fully healed. He had found a way to live with them.

"The girls will be fine. And it might be a while till Andy is called. With any luck he won't see any action at all. Or it will be over by then."

"There's no guarantee that any of them will be safe. Neither of them know what it's really like."

"You know we can't fight him on this. He'll fight back just as hard." She sees he's trying not to cave. "I know it's hard."

He says nothing. He gets a glass and a bottle out from the drinking cabinet, setting down the glass hard on the counter top, indicating that the conversation was over, he didn't want to talk about it anymore, and pours himself a drink. Then he puts on one of his Glen Miller records on the Gramophone.

* * *

"I want you to wait. At least until you're called up." She begged her son.

"Why should I wait?"

"You know he was in the last one. "

"It's not my fault that his mind couldn't handle it."

"Don't you dare!"

"I didn't mean..." George's expressive brown eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I'm just so angry. This is my chance to do something. To make something of myself." He didn't want the title as his father first had. He had felt that such things won't be important after the war. He wanted something that meant more. "I'll feel horrible that men are out there dying, if I can't join up and I'm just here doing nothing to help."

"That's how your father had felt." He was so like his father. If he was too much like him, would the war effect him as it had Matthew?

George read the worried expression in his mother's eyes. Her face could hide it but her eyes could not. Of course she's worried. She's his mother. _She's more worried about dad._ "I'll wait." He promised. "Till I get drafted."

He'd have to speak to his father about it, which he had dreaded. There was no way out. His father had been eleven years older than him when he had volunteered. His father had not waited. Why should he?

He hadn't been the only one eager to join, besides Andy and Jay, who were too young, Sybie was one of the first of their family to join the war effort. She volunteered to train as a nurse and was planning to join the V.A.D. She would be in the front of the action. Mary tried to have Matthew convince her to no go, she would listen to him. But unlike George she wasn't easy to persuade.

She was as independent and free spirited as her mother had been. But that's what scared Mary.

Before the war had started she wanted to live in her own flat, in Boston. Mary had been talking about it to her step-mother one day. Rachel was seventy-seven. Recently Mary had rekindled an acquaintance with her.

"Sybie wants to move into a flat. In Boston. Extraordinary idea, don't you think?"

"Not at all. An excellent one. She wants to be independent. Most admirable."

"I shall miss her."

"Of course you will."

And now she wanted to go off to another country to be a nurse, in the middle of a war zone. Trying to talk George out of joining it didn't fair well either, it only pushed him to go. He would wait till he was called, that's what he had agreed upon, he had said.

He at least wanted father to understand why he wanted to go. He thought that he of all people would understand.

"I just want to make you proud dad. I'm doing this for you. For honor and glory." He had thought his father a hero. To have survived what he had been through in the first.

"There is no honor and glory in war." He said bitterly._ Out there you mean nothing. __You mean everything to me. All of you do. _

George knows he's masking his worry. Each of his parents hid it differently. Her mother with cheerful banter and his father with a bitterness that was uncharacteristically like himself. Or was it the opposite? His nice, caring, amicable ways, an act. Or had the war made him like that? George wondered. He wouldn't let the war change him. He had to set his father's mind at ease, any way that he could.

"I promise I won't go. Until I'm called. That's all I can promise."

He was proud of his son, he truly was. He can't continue to let his fear eat away at him. He had somehow, remarkably been able to rise above it before, for his children, for Mary. He has to let them go make their own decisions, their own mistakes or they would never grow from it. Even if this mistake got him killed? Sure they could try to avoid the inevitable but here was no way out. This was war. And it was hell. But he knows his child could survive it because he has raised a strong enough man (Andy was still a working progress, he joked in his mind, a gift he was still left with, his old sense of humor) If this war goes on long enough, Andy would want to join and there would be no stopping him either. If either of his sons survival in this war was not meant to be so or both of them were to die..._the people we love are only on loan._ The fear again tried to rear it's ugly head. He shoves it down. And thinks of it in a positive light. _We'll see them again._ He knows he would get through it, with the girls and Mary. The Crawley's had a strength that nothing could break.

_Pain is stronger than love. Pain makes us stronger to fight for love._ He loved his son. He had to do what was best for him. If this is what he thought was best for himself, he had to let him. Let him pave his own path. It wasn't right to deny him that, it would be going back on his word of duty. He had to let his own son decide. He wasn't a child anymore. He was becoming his own man. He would treat him as such.

"If that's what you want..." George started but his father put up his hand.

"No." His father's next words surprised him, "No. If that's what you don't want to do. I'll respect your decision. Because we raised you children to do your duty. Whatever it is you're called to do. I'm so proud of you son." They embraced. "I know you can survive through it. You're strong enough."

"You really think so?"

He nodded. "You know how I know? Because I did. You got that strength from me, even more so from your mother. I know I have to let you go. And it scares the hell out of me. But we must rise above our fear. Or none of us would get anywhere."

"How can you have such faith in me?"

"I raised a good man." His smile reached his eyes.

"What about Andy?"

A slight frown tugs at his father's lips. "He's a little bit more worrisome and impulsive."

"I was at that age." George said. _Four years ago. A lot could change in four years._ "He's got the Crawley initiative to fall back on before he realizes he's gone too far. More than I ever had. He'll do just fine too."

* * *

It was inevitable as George had predicted, for it was not long before he received his papers. It had been two weeks since their discussion about him joining up, a few days after he had turned of age.

He and his father were sitting at the breakfast table, none of the others had come down yet. The post had arrived and also the newspaper, which his father had grabbed. George, trying not to be eager, reached for pile of letters.

He shuffled through it. There were quite a few of them. One of them was for him.

"Do you have a letter opener?" He asked his father, whose eyes never left the pages and didn't answer. His memories of war don't seem to bother him anymore. He must still have nightmares though. He didn't let it affect him, or he was hiding the effects. He had never seen his father have his nightmares or the ones during the day, as their mother had told them when they were children.

He didn't seem to have heard George. He was in a different world, from a different world. Half of his generation was dead, their lives cut too short by a war that was pointless, according to his father. But was it? The war to end all wars, they had called it. His father must feel disappointed, that his generation had let them down, that war did more damage than good. He was proof of that, with his injuries, was still paying for them. He would never speak about it, his war. But despite what his father felt, war was necessary.

George sighed and took a butter knife instead. He scanned the contents. It was unbelievable to him, a dream, even though he knew it would be a matter of time, just not this soon.

Matthew's eyes flickered up slowly, knowing what they were. "You don't have to sign them you know." He whispered. "I mean at least for now, take the time you need or don't need."

He nods. "I think I will...soon. I won't tell the others. Till I'm ready."

His father nodded back in understanding.

* * *

When he was set to leave, to be shipped out for training, his parents, brother (still eager and proud) and sisters saw him off at Downton station, all of whom had tears in their eyes. Caroline's were more proud tears. Josephine was outwardly weeping. She rarely showed any emotion. Was it because she was proud or scared for him? Maybe a bit of both. The family huddled together in a hug, for what they all knew could be the last time all seven of them were together.

His mother took him to the side. "Be careful out there, George. If something happened to you or Andy or, God forbid the both of you, I don't think he could survive it." Mary threw her arms around him.

" It will be over before then mum. Besides, I think you don't give him enough credit. He's stronger than you think." His eyes go to his father, who was smiling and waving at him from the bench where he was sitting.

He'd try to be as brave.

Through the train's window, he sees his mother and father walk side by side. He wonders what they are thinking. Hopefully thoughts of happiness. The world will need that.

As the girls and Andy walked ahead of them, Mary fell in beside her husband, shoulder to shoulder. He was leaning against her and his cane for support. She looked up at him, her handsome husband, yes he was still handsome at fifty-four, even though there was a little graying in his golden hair. It added to his attractiveness. She didn't say she what was on her mind, thinking of when the children where out of the house and it would be just them again. She'd imagined he would be as thrilled as she.

She started talking about when she had seen him off to war. When she had given him that 'good luck charm" It seemed a century ago.

"It brought me all the luck in the world. Not that I believed in such a notion. It helped me to think of you. That's what got me through it all."

"I wish I could have given it to him now." She said. They had buried the stuffed dog with Sybil.

"He's too grown up for that." He smirked.

She put her arm around on him. Still drunk on his love. A flame that had never gone out and would continue to burn brighter every passing day, even in trying times, even when the world seemed darkest. They were strong enough to brave the storm. Together. As they always had. They had for ever.

* * *

**AN: Shorter chapter this time put hopefully a longer one next time, with more story lines to come. I'm thinking of putting Sybie in another or possibly more chapters depending how many people are interested, a close friend to her cousin, a voice of reason to George, or maybe to her Uncle Matthew, when his daughters join the war effort? Who knows where the journey will take us next. **


	9. Shattered Peace 1940-1945

Shattered Peace 1940-1945

Description: W_hile the girls want to join the war effort anyway they can, Mary and Matthew feel like they are losing their children, who __are forced to grow up, experiencing heartbreak and pain they thought they never had to face. __Their lives continuing to spiral out of control, with both sons eventually listed as missing in action, and Josephine's secret, he fails to see his youngest daughter, Caroline, making her own mistakes. Lines and social barriers are crossed. And Downton is once again put in danger. In times of war no one and nothing is safe._

**AN: I added another child for Matthew and Mary, Kate who is in between Josephine and Andy in a updated previous chapter. **

* * *

By 1940 Downton had once again become a convalescent home as it had in the first war. Kate volunteered to take care of the soldiers, fetching things for them or reading, sometimes writing letters for those who were blinded or had lost their hand. She had learned and observed a lot from the nurses, but didn't do any actual nursing.

She had become tired of it, stuck here doing virtually nothing, hoping that soon she could take another path, once she was old enough. Carrie who was sixteen that year, didn't show any interest yet in helping. Josephine lacked even more so. They were still in their own little worlds and hadn't yet learned to grasp the reality of this war, unlike Kate. And Josephine was the oldest of the three girls. No one understood Josephine's habit of shielding herself, except for her father and her brother George. And the coolness about her was a result of that. If she shields herself, she doesn't have to see what it does to her father. She had seen his nightmares, one of his episodes when she was a little girl, where he had stared blankly. Though he hadn't had them in years, the others only knew about them. They hadn't witnessed it first hand like she had. It had in a way traumatized her. She wouldn't let anyone know.

On the surface papa appeared as a normal person but she knew he still carried the deep scars with him. It had made her realise early on that the world was a cruel place. She had to shield herself. Her siblings were so naïve. But they soon would learn. She had only showed her weakness once, when George had left for war.

* * *

Bertie Pelham, the Marquess of Hexam, was sitting down to breakfast with his son, James, who referred to go by Jay, while his mother was taking hers in bed.

"Do you think it will be a long war?" Jay asked his father. He was eleven years old, anxious to join himself someday. That was seven years away. The war could be long over by then. His cousin George had already joined up, being of age. He looked up to his older cousin. Sybie was his oldest cousin but she wasn't a boy. She had joined the war effort herself long before George. Her father and Uncle Matthew, including Aunt Mary were not at all happy about it at first, as she'd also be out on the front lines. At least she got to see action too.

"Probably." This Herr Hitler was too erratic to simply back down. The man was a psychopath. Having Jewish family members himself, he was glad that they were safely living in America. Rose and Atticus had a daughter and two sons. Violet Rose was the oldest. She was away in university in California. One of their boy's, Peter, was Jay's age. The other, was eight. They were all safely out of the war too. Of course Bertie would have been proud if he'd had an older son to go off to fight. "I suppose I could exempt...too old, a family to look after and all that."

"Uh, huh."

"We'd better go tell your mother."

"Yes. We'd better."

Edith pretended to be brave. Even though they wouldn't send him to the front. They'd want all the young one's first and when young men came less available. They'd want him as a desk Captain, something dignified like that. They had to have heard about his services in the first war.

"Certainly you would have to go." She said, with tears in her eyes. "You couldn't live with yourself if you didn't."

He'd gotten the letter sooner than they had imagined. He left before Christmas and would be stationed in Australia in March. The younger recruits would call him Uncle.

* * *

It had been almost four months since George had left for training. His first letter didn't arrive till January. The longest he's been away from home, alone. He had spent his first Christmas away from home. He would never talk about what it was like over there or what he'd been doing, just about how he was. He had gone through grueling training. It had been cut in half to six weeks instead of twelve. On the 26th of October he was shipped out, (the location where he was sent was blacked out) The letters would always arrive a month apart.

_30 Dec, 1939_

_A passenger train collided with a troop train in (blank), forty were killed._

He doesn't list anyone he might have known.

Josephine responded immediately. He would send a letter to Mama and Papa as well, which left out a great deal more. George and Jo kept the contents of their correspondence private, an unwritten pact. He wouldn't want to upset them and neither did she. Though they knew their parents didn't have to imagine how horrible it was.

In her first letter, she wrote about nothing. That nothing exciting was happening at home. She had gone to the pictures with a few girls from the village. She hesitantly wrote about a friend of hers, Charlie Parker, who was in France. And that she was worried about their cousin Sybil, who would soon be joining the front. She had just completed her training as a nurse.

George replied he'd keep an eye out for him, and was wondering if he treated her well, hoping he was better than the Duke. He was not a very intelligent in George's opinion and was 'dull as bricks' and that Sybil could take care of herself, asking why she cared.

She didn't correct him that Charlie was a woman, Charlotte Parker. How could she? She wrote,

_ Just asking you to look out for a friend, nothing really special there. Didn't you know, dear brother? I don't have a heart to love._

_-Your sister, the Ice Princess_

His response,

_ Josephine Alexandria Crawley, __I've been anxiously waiting, bored out of my mind, till they give me something worth while to do in this hell, waiting to hear your words of encouragement __and this is all you write?_

She had replied back, that she was mad. Mad that he didn't write much of anything, so she couldn't really help in the 'encouragement' department._ Don't write back till you go something more to say._

Two whole months went by. She hadn't heard from him. She asked her parents if they had gotten anything from George. They hadn't.

Josephine frantically wrote him back, telling her if he was mad at her he should just write back instead of having them worry. Downtown had become a convalescent home. Kate kept herself busy, and papa. She thinks it helps him not to think. _Just please write back. _

August 1940, he finally wrote. London had been bombed. He had been helping evacuate civilians and would soon be coming home on leave, due to his heroic acts, he claims. He was to be sent home to rest from breathing in a bit of smoke. He was getting promoted for his help. He had asked in his letter if he should try for Captain to compete with dad. Her eyes watered with joyful tears, relieved that he would be coming home.

Papa had looked alarmed when he saw her. He asked her what was wrong. She hugged him, not caring in that moment that anyone saw.

"He's coming home! He's alright. He's coming home!"

He was to stay on bed rest, but of course he wouldn't. He would make the rounds of the soldiers' beds, chatting with them.

When Papa saw him, it was like he was seeing a ghost. Like he couldn't believe that his son was home. The two men, locked eyes, George caught off mid-laugh at his own joke to a fellow soldier. It was like the world stopped, was how Jo and Kate could describe it, as they looked on.

Papa made the first move, walking slowly toward George. They stood face to face, almost matching in height. Neither of them spoke as if they didn't know what to say. A unspoken, unspeakable knowledge and understanding seemed to pass between them.

Matthew outstretched his arms, enveloping his oldest in an embrace, albeit awkward one.

"C'mon on dad, not in front of the guys."

"Go on, hug your pops. You don't know when you'll see him again." One soldier called.

"How long did they give you?"

"Five days and a fortnight."

It wasn't near long enough. Yet, this might be the longest that they will see him. "See your mother, will you? She's been wanting to see you."

* * *

He took tea with mother.

"I might stay in the military for a bit. Until I can get promoted to Captain. If I don't make the cut before the war ends."

"Why would you want to stay with the army after the war?" Mary asked.

"It would look good on the resume." His mother looked at him puzzled. "For being the future Earl."

"You don't need to do everything your father does."

George rolled his eyes. Couldn't she tell that he was joking? "The world will be a rather broken place, mother." He never called her Mama or his father, Papa, like his sisters. Andy called her mum and father, dad, like him. "It will need all the help it can get."

"Your brother says the exact same thing. His reasoning for wanting to join up."

"I agree with father, that the American's should join."

"Don't let Andy hear you say that. He's rather set on it that we don't need help. I'm starting to grow more concern for him."

"How so? How has my little brother manage to find ways to misbehave this time?" Andy had been quite the troublemaker of the bunch when he was younger, not just Jo, who had liked to test the adult's limits, mostly their mother. While Andy liked to test his. They had often seemed to take turns. Since the start of the war, his antics had been put on the back burner though he always had a streak of recklessness that was not likely to go away. He actually feared for his brother, if it came for his turn to be called to war._ He wouldn't even wait. He'd probably go right into a fire fight without a plan or consequences before it was too late. _

"He's been hovering over the wireless since you went off. I don't partially mind when it keeps your father away from it."

She had a point. Listening to it all could bring it all back for him. His father, he hadn't seen in months. None of them. It felt so strange, being away from them all. Soon he'd be gone again, this time further away. "They might be sending me to France." It was a definite that he would be going. He did not want to tell them just yet.

Mary sat upright, determined to hide her fear.

"Do you think Paris will ever be the same?" He asked his mother. "I don't think we'll be able to go back there for years. Maybe when you're grandparents?"

"Hopefully not for years." Mary couldn't imagine being a grandmother just yet, and George was still eighteen, in another month it will be his birthday. Still way too young to get married. She prefer he'd wait till he was twenty-four. Twenty-four sounded like a good age. Matthew would be over the moon as a grandfather, just as he was when he became a father.

Mother and son, smiled at each other, before giving into fits of laughing. His eyes crinkling around the corners just like his father. Speaking of, it was time she looked for that handsome man.

* * *

That night, George had a few soldiers, sitting around, playing cards. A few of them had been smoking. Kate had to chase them off.

"Do not smoke or allow others to smoke around you." She demanded at her brother. "You're supposed to be getting plenty of rest and on cough drops or hard candy to soothe a dry or sore throat, take cough medicine ...and most of all avoid things that may irritate your lungs!"

"Yes nurse!"

"I'm serious...you..."

"Relax, alright. I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Kate's eyes start to water, till she could no longer look at him. She turned on her heels and ran towards the double doors.

"I was just...oh come on...,,

Josephine was nearly knocked over by her younger sister as she was entering the day room. She looked at her sister bustling past, and looked at George.

"What did you do? " She asked. She could only get Carrie to cry like that.

George just sighed and huffed and turned back to the magazine he was reading.

* * *

Restless, George wandered the halls. He decided to go find Andy. He was avoiding him like the plague, it seemed. And he was avoiding Kate. He would hate to have to talk to her with the water works going.

Andy was on his bed, under the sheet with a torch. He could hear him fiddling with the dreaded wireless.

"It's not healthy to obsess over."

"Why do you think I listen to it everyday? I hope not to hear names of anyone we know, to hear yours!"

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I? C'mon, budge up a bit."

Andy scooted over on the bed and George sat down next to him.

He gave his little brother some brotherly advice. How to survive the war, because it didn't like it was going to end anytime soon.

"Never forget where you come from. When you're over there."

Andy gave him a confused look. "Our social status? Why would that matter?"

"Us. Think of who WE are. Us Crawley's are made out of strong stuff. And you know who's the stronger out of all of us?"

"Grandmother Violet?"

George laughed, recalling fond memories of the late Dowager Countess. "No." He whipped the drops of moisture from the corner of his eyes. He waited till it subsided, after a moment and rested his hand on his brother's knee. "Dad."

* * *

1941-1943 George rarely was ever sent home on leave. He was home a few months out of the year, a few days at the least. He still wrote. But it became clearer and clearer how much it was changing him with each letter, sometimes he barely wrote at all. He did write to Josephine about his American friend, "Jimbo" and was going with his sister Sophie. It was nothing serious, though he had brought her home for dinner once. Her interests seemed to lie in herself. She took to her role in society but had no interest in country life, it was apparent. Josephine and their mother knew that she wasn't the one for him and wondered what he saw in her. Though George had carried on a relationship with her for two years.

_August 1943_

Josephine went into the village the next morning, not to teach, but to help the girls, Connie and Clair, at the telephone exchange. It would help take her mind her troubles. She was starting to worry about Charlotte, (whom she affectionately called Parker, especially when to referring to her in letters and she would sign hers, _affectionatley P_); she hadn't heard from her in weeks. She figured she was mad at her. Parker had been tired that she had been yanking around several other men and her Duke. It was either her or them. Then she came up with a crazy scheme. She had bought tickets for her and Jo to a train station, they would then board a ship, where she could train as a nurse and at the same time see the world. And after the war, they could find somewhere, just the two of them. She couldn't just drop everything or leave Papa and her family. P had thought it an excuse and would retract her offer if she didn't meet her that morning, she couldn't keep playing games. And so Jo hadn't showed up to meet her. She had sent a letter, but had gotten silence. It was perhaps for the best that their friendship come to an end.

_ "Whatever this friendship is, innocent or not, I think it wise to put an end to it."_

That's what had been in the letter, her real reason for objecting, but the damage was apparently done, even if the letter had reached her at all. Guys were so much easier, they didn't overact over everything and you didn't have to display that much emotion. None of the boys had ever caught her eye in village, though she was sure she caught many of theirs. She just liked the attention. Billy, the footman that worked for them, also he was the Butler's son, was always mischievous and daring, she needed the excitement. They would meet at the gate beyond the stables whenever she 'went for a ride' and they would picnic and kiss but that was about it. He was the perfect gentlemen, though he got a little rowdy when drunk and never drank in front of her. But a few times she had witnessed him at the pub, always trying to start a fight. He was studying to become a solicitor, like papa was but he would hardly approve. And she was only with the Duke because it was expected of her and she wanted to please her parents, especially Papa. But he would want her to be with anyone that made her happy. Parker had made her happy but that was out of the realm of possibility. While wars changed the world, it wouldn't change that fast for them to be together, in whatever way.

By the time she got to the exchange, there was a commotion outside. A protest of some sort? Around the fray of the gathering crowd she could barley see a man, pushing his way through, his head down.

Connie came running up next to her, "Were where you? You missed all the fun."

More bystanders were making it out onto the scene. She wanted to say something, anything. He shouldn't be treated this way. But she was too frightened. What if they turned on her?

Then above the jeering and shouting, she heard a familiar voice. Her father's voice.

Matthew had just come out of the office when he heard the commotion. Some poor man was being harassed by a small crowd that had formed around him. It didn't take a genius to figure out what they were on about.

"Get away from him. All of you. Stop this at once! Didn't you stop to think he may have a reason ? Do you think this is this the way our men would want this in their name, who are risking their lives everyday would want to be remembered? And this is how you show your respect? Shame on you. All of you, go home."

The crowd silenced, not having to be asked twice. Some of them ashamed and humiliated. _Good. _As they started to clear out, he caught sight of one person he didn't expect to see. He only saw the back of her. _Please let me be wrong._

"Josephine?"

She slowly turned, a half nervous smile on her face.

"Josephine, get it the car."

"No. I'd rather walk home, thanks." It sounded like a deliberate insult.

"Get in the car, now!"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You've embarrassed me."

"We'll have a talk about this later." He said sternly.

Why did he have to treat her as a child? Caroline was the baby of the family. She wanted to stall. Avoid having to have that talk for as long as she could. She walked through the village. She came to a stop at the church. On the bulletin they would often list the missing or the dead. Something drew her to it. She didn't think she wouldn't see any names she recognised.

There was a flyer stapled in the middle.

**Australian Hospital Liner Sunk By Torpedo.**

Scrawling down the list of casualties, she saw the name, _Nurse Charlotte Parker. _

She nearly fainted.

* * *

It was later in the evening. Mary noticed Matthew's mood hadn't changed since he had come home.

_"Have any bad news today?" _ Was too tactless to say. There was bad news everywhere. And asking if anything was bothering him or what's on his mind would be pointless. It was always the boys.

"How was the office?"

"I saw Josephine there. I told her to get into the car, she refused. She said I've embarrassed her." His forehead furrowed and he could all the lines.

"Did you ask her about it? What she was going there?

"No. I didn't give it much thought."

"Well, there's your answer. You've misunderstood the situation. I still. think you should talk to her about it. She's at least owed to explain. Isn't that what you always told me, instead of jumping to conclusions?"

"Yes." He briefly smiled. He had advised her on it constantly in their younger years. She wasn't thinking of the main issue here. Finding his daughter in the middle of that protest, that wasn't what hurt him. "What ever reason for her being there doesn't matter. It's clear I am an embarrassment to her. I don't think there's much to..."

"She said 'you've embarrassed me, not you embarrass me.' She was probably embarrassed of what her friends think about you and she shouldn't be. You need to talk to her. Our daughter loves you. She doesn't think any less of you."

She hadn't joined in with the jesters or had directed any slurs. But had smiled, a nervous one, not a gleeful one he had misinterpreted it as at first.

"I'll go talk to her about it now." He set down the magazine he was reading, grabbing his stick. Mary smiled behind her own magazine.

He stopped just outside her bedroom door, wondering what he was going to say to her. It wouldn't be angry words, that's for sure. They'd work through this like calm, civil adults. He raised his first about to knock. That's when he heard her anguished sobs.

Without bothering to announce himself, he entered.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" She shouted, sounding angry but he could see right through her. She was kneeling on the floor as if she had been in prayer. Her face puffy are read with tears.

He sat on the bed near her. She scooted over on her knees and buried her face in the mattress.

"Tell me what is it, darling?" He gently touched her head, wondering what could be causing his child so much pain."Is it your brothers?"

George had just left to go back, and Andy had just turned seventeen. He would be joining his brother next year, if the war was still going on by then.

She felt so awful, how she had treated him earlier and mad at him now that he was speaking to her as if she were a child again. But a part of her wanted to be. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be alright. How could he when he if he doesn't know what's wrong. She didn't want him to find out this way.

She got up onto the bed, regaining some of her emotions. "It's my friend, Charlotte. The ship she was on was torpedoed by Germans."

He continued to listen and comfort her. He had read the notice in the village, one of the names had been their own, from Downtown, one of the farmers sons. He didn't know any Charlotte or had heard of her until now. She wasn't from the village. He only knew of Claire and Connie. Where could she have met this Charlotte and why had she never told them of her or never had met her? The ship she had been the AHS Centaur, a hospital ship. She must have been a nurse. He wouldn't ask any questions. All he could do was hold her in his arms as she started to sob heavily again. A sorrow that went deeper. He began to expect that this woman had been more than just a friend.

"Was this Charlotte more than just a friend?"

She sat up. The tears were still falling but they were silent now. The warmth of his hand radiated through the back of her shirt. He was always there for her. She had to tell him. _He's papa. I can't keep this in any longer. If I have to tell someone it has to be him. He'll at least try to understand. No one else will, not even George. Papa will still love me._ She straightens up with all the bravery she can muster. "We were together."

It was a shock to him, even though somehow he had known that she had been different in some way. What hurt him the most, just as much as the pain she was feeling, was the utter shame she had on her face. That she would think he would be ashamed of her.

"I loved her. When I was mean she knew I could be soft, and she made me calm, and knew how to make me laugh. Like you with Mama. That's how I know it was...real."

"Do you..." He wasn't sure how to ask.

"I think I like men too. But when Connie asked me if I found a certain man attractive, I didn't know. I wasn't sure."

"Does anyone else know?" He asked her. He kept his voice level and serious. He didn't want her to think the worst of him. She probably thought he was disappointed in her. He didn't know why she hung around Connie. She was a spiteful person, her true nature. There was no kindness to cover up, like his daughter. He had no doubt that it had been her that had instigated and antagonized that whole scene.

"Aunt Edith. She almost turned me out because if it got out... we called it off a while ago, and Auntie let me stay if I convinced her it was so." They just sat in silence, till she found the courage to speak again. "I know why you came up here. I know it was wrong, what Connie did. It was wrong of me to just stand there. I couldn't do anything. I'm not as strong or brave as you or the boys or Mama. I always wanted to be like you, and the boys. I know how I should be brave in certain situations but not...losing someone who...you were in love with...because you never...You must be so disappointed and I feel so ashamed for loving her." She leaned into him, lowering her head onto his lap. She wished she was small again so she could climb into it.

"No. I am so proud of you! It takes all the courage in the world to admit to your mistakes. But...listen to me darling, Charlotte wasn't one of them. She made you happy. I've always known you were different Josephine." He smiled and stroked her hair. "because, I've always understood you best. But you should never feel guilty about loving someone."

She sat up, this time in disbelief of what she was hearing. "You're...you're not angry with me? You don't despise me?"

Then he said what he had said to his wife all those years ago, "I could never despise you." He kissed the top of her head.

"I should have never had said that to you, Papa." She put her arms around him. "I'm not embarrassed of you. I'm angry that it took a part of you away, a part of you that I should have known."

Tears welled up in his own eyes. He wished she could have known that part of him too. The man that should be here not this imposter. "I'm still here. I'm still your Papa."

"You'll always be my Papa."

* * *

Over dinner that night they received less than exasperating news from George but it was better news. He and Sophie were engaged but no wedding plans were not yet made. They were on and off again, till it appeared George had ended it in January of 1944, on New Years. He had sent a letter to the family announcing it and that he'd be getting off on leave, just in time to coincide with Kate's coming out party. She had just turned twenty on the 2nd and the party would be held on the 7th.

The third on January, Andy had secretly enlisted, lying about his age. He wouldn't be eighteen till the next four months. Unlike his brother he was not willing to wait.

There was anger from his parents at first. They had been wondering where he had been all day, what he'd been up to. He told them the truth.

"I signed up."

"I was just at the war office this morning." His father said. "I didn't see you."

"I went to the enlisting office in the next village over so no one notice me."

"You're not even of age yet...how did you.." His mother didn't have to give it further thought. "You lied about your age."

"That's right. How else do you think they'd let me?" He was starting to grow angry. Most of it was being fueled by his father's silence.

"What do you think running away will achieve?" Mary asked him, scolding him like he was five years old again.

"I'm not running away. I didn't tell you I was signing up because I knew how you'd react. I'm doing what you taught us to do. I'm doing my duty!" How could they be so hypocritical?

"Of course you are." His father replied.

"I can't go back on it now. How would that look? It would be dishonest."

"You were being dishonest to begin with by lying!" His mother pointed out, showing her disapproval. As if making a point that he wasn't grown up enough, that he didn't think things through. This was his chance to prove them wrong.

"You don't think I'm grown up enough. Tell me what difference a few months will make?"

"I know you're sorry..." Matthew began. He had been hoping to avoid this, at least till after those few precious months, till he had to send another son off to war. But he was nearly a man now. He couldn't stop him. A man couldn't go back on his duty, his oath.

"No. I'm not. You always talked about doing our duty, that we shouldn't stand by when something we know is wrong, and we should stand up when we can help, when something is right. This is right! I can't stay back, while all those people die. I'm old enough. I've waited long enough!"

He could see how angry Andy was. He had a short fuse sometimes as his mother and Josephine but it took longer for him to let go of.

"I know you're ready." He said to his son.

Andy could only exhale to try to calm himself. Father would support him, that didn't mean he had to like it. He appreciated that. But he was still angry. Maybe the training and the few months away, he could blow off steam.

Watching Andy try to control his anger, it made him look like a man. He would be one when he returned. He wanted to hug his son, what remained of the little boy before it disappeared, but he would just turn away. He had already been 'too old' for hugs since he was ten. Though he had hugged his brother goodbye when they had all seen him off. Andy gave his father a nod and shook his hand, embracing his mother. Perhaps just too old for his father.

He left the next morning before the servants and the family woke, only leaving a note. The maid had discovered it as she cleaned his room. Probably just as he had planned. Mary took it hastily from the older woman and handed it to her husband.

Matthew had just read it silently, then without a word or looking at it again, folded it and put it into his top pocket.

"Surely, it isn't too late to stop him. Talk some sense into him."

"It would buy us little more time at best. What's to stop him from going then? We have to let him go. Just as we had let George. They're not boys anymore."

The house was quieter without him, his absence felt. They were worried about his carelessness, how it could potentially get himself killed but he still had some sense to pull himself out of situations before he wen too far. He would have to grow up quick out there. The girls were growing up in their own ways.

Kate met Jack Heaton, a twenty-four year old, RAF pilot, while making her rounds one morning in those early days of January. He was embarrassed that he just had a measly cold, but he would be sent back to the front once he received a clean bill of health.

"I don't think I'd want to be a teacher, like my sister Josephine." Josephine taught in the school in the village. She had been living with Aunt Edith at Downton for some time before the rest of the family had moved back, for a reason she would not say. She seemed to be at odd's with Papa, an unspoken silence. She'd been acting a bit odd lately. A friend of hers, they had never heard of before, Charlotte, had been killed when the ship she'd been traveling on had been torpedoed. Of course it was understandable. Not long after, Josephine would start seeing a Duke. Papa had seemed to cheer up at this but was not particularly thrilled about the man. Maybe he'd been worried about her prospects. Jo had never really been interested in marriage or any man. Kate had thought of marriage, she was after all nineteen, nearing twenty, but not when their was a war on. She wanted to focus her interests elsewhere at the moment, what she would want to do with her future. If there was a future. The war was giving women all sorts of opportunities when it came to jobs. "I'd like to try being a nurse. I don't know if I'd be any good but at least I'd know I'm doing something worthwhile."

"You got good beside manner. That's a start." Jack replied. "Raising a soldier's spirits."

"It certainly raises mine. Mama thought it was about the up coming party."

"There's going to be a party?" He perked up at this. He was probably tired of lying in bed, starting at the same four walls.

"I just turned twenty."

"Crickey, almost a baby. I'm twenty-four. Just turned myself."

"That accent sounds familiar. Where is it that you're from?"

"Australia. Emigrated there with my parents and my brother when we were kids. But I'm still an Englishman at heart."

"What it is you do in Australia? When you're not flying planes?"

"My parents are landowners. I help with the investments. I'm an accountant." Kate smiled. He could be a good asset to Downton. Lawyers and accountants go hand and hand. And her mother was also good with numbers. Why was she thinking all this? It's not like he'll stick around. When he goes back she'll probably never hear from him again. "I think there will be big investments in airplanes after the war. They'd be used more from travel. There will be lots of money to be made." She was interested in his ideas. But it also seemed a ridiculous notion about people using planes just to get from place to place, "they'd be more efficient than boats, cars or trains for long distance travel, just imagine you could get to one side of the world in matter hours rather than days." He was saying now. She liked that he could think of the future, in this bleak world of war. "When is this party of yours?"

"The end of the week. That reminds me, I should get going. My dress fitting is today. Mama will be in a frenzy. I'll see you tomorrow."

She came like she had promised.

"You're a sight for sore eyes. I was just writing to my mother about you." He set down his pen and paper on the night stand.

"Good things I hope."

"How elegant, sophisticated and what a dazzling beautiful woman you are."

"Don't make me blush." He shouldn't be flirting with her and she shouldn't acknowledge it. "There's a war on. It makes anyone think nonsense." That didn't stop her from her asking him "Look Mr. Heaton..."

"Call me Jack."

"I shall not." She retorted, rebuffing him. "I was wondering...I wanted to invite you to my party."

"That would depend on who's all attending." She knows he's having her on.

"Just a bunch of socialite snobs and a few boys from the village but they're school age. We're short of men, and I've already squired it away with Mama, that It'd be alright if I invited some of the officers."

"I wouldn't know how to behave. I haven't been introduced to that sort of thing." He didn't want to embarrass her. A farm boy turned accountant still wasn't impressive enough.

"Neither was my papa at first, he's a solicitor and my Uncle Tom was the chauffeur. You'll be fine."

"What a strange family you have for a Lady." She smiled at that. _You have no idea._

She feels like she could kiss him. She waits for the urge to pass. "So, is that a yes?"

"An affirmative yes." He said after a moment. "I guess I can suffer anything to be with you."

Jay was making his way over. He would often came to visit Downton to listen to the soldiers talk, especially the pilots. He was fascinated by planes. He was only sixteen. Hopefully war would not catch up to him, Kate desperately hoped. It had already come for Andy, not even eighteen. Even he might not be untouched. He had come over to talk with Jack, the only other person the pilot enjoyed talking to.

She heard them talk as she briskly walked away.

* * *

They were surprised that Sybie, now going by Sybil, was coming home on leave from France. She volunteered for the Voluntary Aid Detachment as a nurse, serving at the front. She hadn't told them ahead of time, except for Kate. Despite their age difference of three years, they had become friends after all. They had the same interests and modern views. Sybie was more outspoken on her political opinions just like her mother and father.

Kate had come up the drive with her, their arms linked, suitcase in the other.

"Mama, look who's just arrived!"

Of course Mary was hovering like a mother hen over her niece. "Sybie, dear, what a surprise!" She still called her Sybie, it was strange to call her by her late sister's name. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming? We'd have made up a room for you. I can have Flora..."

"Don't worry about it Auntie Mary. I'm used to sleeping anywhere by now."

"I heard of some of your harrowing adventures from Kate and George." The two Crawley siblings were the closest to Sybie. "Your papa must be so worried."

"Actually, he's quite proud of me, following in Mama's footsteps." They walked out of the Great Hall and into the tea room. "I might even consider on become a doctor."

"A woman doctor?" Kate was enthralled but at the same time doubtful, "there's not very many of those."

"A lot will change after the fighting. It did after the last war."

"I don't think it will change that much." Mary showed her own doubt. She went over to ring the bell, "i'll have Flora make up a bedroom."

"Syb and I can take care of it, Mama. We'll take the bags up to my room."

"Not without hugging your Uncle first." Matthew stood in the doorway, outstretching his arms.

"Uncle Matthew!" Sybil rushed to receive his hug. "It's so good to see you!"

"That's the only reason you came right?" He asked her teasingly.

Then the two girls, or young women, he should say, ran up the stairs.

* * *

Kate and Sybil piled the suitcases in the corner of her room. Kate kicked off her shoes and plopped on the bed, lying back for a moment.

When Sybil sat on the bed, Kate sat up.

"So, will there be any nice chaps?" Sybil asked, turning to her cousin.

"A few officers. Any reason?"

Sybil shrugged, "Will there be any decent young ladies attending?"

"It will be a total snob fest."

"Good. There won't be much competition then."

Kate sat up straighter, "Why? What are you planning?"

"George sounded so mopey in his letters. I wanted to cheer him up by bringing a friend of mine. If that's alright with you. If not, I can tell her that plans changed. I don't want to steal your thunder."

"Of course not. I'll be glad to get some of the lime light off me." If it would cheer George up, and it would be a good excuse to spend time with Jack, away from prying eyes.

"What about you? Is there anyone that you're smitten with?"

"Not exactly. Besides it won't work. I don't think it would be wise."

"Alright, now you've got me curious. Who is he? Is he one of the officers?"

"He's an RAF pilot. And he's Australian but he was born in England, he immigrated their with his family when he was young. His family own a lot of farm land, and he's an accountant when he's back home. But it won't work. We're not even in the same social circle."

"My parents weren't. Your Aunt and Uncle. If it's true love like theirs, do you really think Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew won't accept it?"

"No. But...he'll move back to Australia after the war. I'll probably never see him again. And he'll forget me."

"Let's say if you could? Would you go with him if he asked?"

Kate frowned, shrugging. "Maybe. But it will never happen."

"Never say never. That's my motto."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Kate laid back again, huffing out a breath of air, blowing a strand of hair of her forehead. She changed the subject. "It's just so frustrating and boring here. It's like my life means nothing but social events and parties. I want to do something. Now that I'm twenty, I want to contribute, play my part."

"You want to join the VAD, volunteer as a nurse like me?"

"I've been thinking about it. But I won't be going to France. I don't think papa could handle it. All of his children being away, and I don't want to encourage Carrie."

"My father doesn't worry. He's been handling it well."

"Yes, well, he doesn't have two sons, fighting in the thick of it, does he?" He didn't suffer the trauma of it because he didn't serve." Kate sighed. "He has nightmares. But he gets on alright. He doesn't let it disrupt his life."

"I'm so sorry, Katie." She understands her cousin is hurting. She hadn't thought.

"No. I should be the one to apologize. Uncle Tom must be just as worried, having you out at the front." She hadn't been the one thinking. Sybil was an only child. The feeling must be worse, knowing that your only child was putting their life at risk, and could die at any moment.

They didn't speak for a short time, "but they certainly do need nurses here at home. Let me know when you're ready and I can put you in touch with the right people."

The maid came calling. "A Miss Weston has arrived for Miss Sybil."

* * *

Kate had been fitted for her dress, while the other girls had to use their own, which they hardly thought were good enough. Such an event called for new dresses but the dressmakers in town were running short on fabric and most of the seamstresses had joined the war effort, making uniforms for the soldiers.

"Mama, you can't really expect us to wear these." Jo had a ghastly look on her face. "These frocks are at least thirty years old!"

"You'll just have to make due." Her mother smirked, closing the door and left them to it.

Olivia Weston took out a pink dress and held it up to her. "At least I know which one I won't be wearing." With her complexion she thought she looked horrible in that color.

Olivia had been friends with Sybil for quite some time. They had met each other through their father's, who had been doing business together. Mr. Weston ran a bank in Ripon. Matthew hadn't met him in person yet, only spoke to him on the phone. Weston was not a likable man, yet not unbearably unpleasant, but he got the job done when you saw eye to eye with him. Tom and Matthew were meant to met him in person that weekend after the party but Mr. Weston was unable to attend and would reschedule for another time. Olivia was the opposite of her father, polite and sweet. She was short with brown hair and brown eyes. A modern woman like Sybil. She supposed that was why they got along so well.

Her sisters began to tease her about Lord Wroughton. Kate had been childhood friends with him. They had met in 1927 after his father had died. He had become an Earl at eleven years old.

"I heard Lord Wroughton is coming." Carrie said.

"Of course he will be. Mama practically invited everyone." Jo's tone had an annoyed edge to it. She had always found Roy Raynor to be annoying and a bit pathetic, pinning after her sister when it was clear that she didn't reciprocate his feelings. A dangerous game, feelings. Even more dangerous, love.

"Who's Lord Wroughton?" Olivia asked with curiosity. Carrie had sounded amused by the thought of this gentlemen's mere presence.

"We've all known each other since we were children." She explained. "He used to come up to the house to play with us but I think it was only an excuse to see Kate. "He has a massive crush on you."

"He does not!" Kate said, firmly not believing it. She had never had those feelings toward Roy or seen anything to indicate that he did. So he mustn't toward her.

"Just you watch. He'll be salivating at you in the corner, with you wearing that dress." Carrie said. "I think he's in love with you."

"Don't be daft. He doesn't like me that way."

"Sybil, what do you think?"

She ignored Jo's question, reaching into the closet. "Here, try this one." She took out a blue frock and held it up to Olivia. "I think it would go great." It was George's favorite shade of blue.

"I suppose that one doesn't look too bad." Josephine said. "Oh here's one just like it." She grabbed it before Carrie could, who scowled at her older sister. Josephine smiled over her triumph, holding the dress close to her out of her younger sister's reach.

"I'll wear one of mine anyway." Carrie said confidently. "The one I wore last year."

"You mean that plain one you wore to my party?" Jo asked. "It was incredibly embarrassing..."

Carrie started for the door, clearly fuming but more upset.

"Good luck attracting a man in that." Jo inclined her head to watch her retreat.

"Oh honestly, Jo." Sybil sighed.

"What? I was being honest. Sometimes your harshest critic is your best friend."

* * *

George and Olivia seemed to hit it off well. Sybil was sure she sensed a spark between them.

Olivia denied it, "A man has never really taken interest in me and probably never will. Men are scared of modern and intelligent women." The two young women were sitting at a table.

"You clearly haven't met my Aunt Mary. And George is different. He isn't like that."

Olivia shifted her eyes, pushing food around on her plate. "I don't think he really noticed."

"Oh, come on now, Oliver."

"Oliver?" Matthew came over to join them.

" Oh, she sometimes teases me. You see I was supposed to be Oliver Jr. I was expected to be a boy. I suppose that's why my father has such confidence in me, helping with the books." The more nervous she gets, the more she talks, a rapid fire response.

"Oh?" Matthew's voice was filled with intrigue.

"For the bank."

Sybil noticed his confused look. There must have been a miscommunication somewhere. They hadn't been introduced yet. She jumped in the conversation, "Uncle Matthew, this is Miss Olivia Weston. Her father owns a bank in Ripon?" She was asking him but she meant it as a reminder.

"Ah, yes. I do business with your father."

"Yes. That's how Sybil and I met. I'm so sorry father was unable to attend this weekend. He was a bit under the weather."

"No worries. We re-scheduled another time."

"I don't want you to think he sent me in his place. I don't think he's quite that bold yet. He's awfully discrete about it. I think mainly because he doesn't want anyone to know that it's a woman who manages the books."

"It won't be like that for long." Sybil said.

"What do you mean?" Olivia asked.

"I think quite a lot of women will be holding a job that men normally would, after the war. We've lost so many men, women will have to fill all manner of jobs." She immediately sensed her Uncle's discomfort and changed the subject. "Speaking of books, Olivia loves to read."

"Does she?" They all turned to George who had made his way over. "I was wondering if you would like to accompany to me to the library, Miss Weston?"

"I would love to."

"I'll be their chaperone." Sybil got up from her chair.

Kate came to sit with her father, after several attempts at avoiding Roy's offers to dance.

"Where are they off too?" Kate asked. She didn't really care. She just needed a distraction. Roy wouldn't come over here. He had always been shy around her father. She was slightly hurt, hoping that papa's limited mobility, and sometimes use of a wheelchair was the issue.

Roy had been terrified of it as a child and would not go near him. Roy's mother, Lady Cecelia, had to nearly force him. Roy's brother Ivo would often taunt him, silently, by sitting on papa's lap like the other children and only had one year old. He was here too but had made no attempt to acknowledge Kate, not even to say a happy birthday. What mattered most to her was her number one. Her papa. Mama was upstairs with a head cold and could not join the festivities. And was not too pleased that she couldn't come down to bare witness to her handy work. But that didn't mean Papa couldn't enjoy himself.

He was wearing his leg braces tonight so that he'd be able to dance.

"The library." Her father said.

"That's interesting." She said as she saw Sybil following George and Olivia out of the hall, a man was following after her, or it appeared that way. Sybil could handle him or George but surly it wouldn't come to that.

After their dinner, the band started playing, her father stood up. "I think it's only right that I claim the first dance with my daughter?" He held out her hand and led her out on the dance floor. She wished she could get out of it and join the others, but he'd be so sad if she didn't besiege his request. And she felt a bit embarrassed as she was a grown woman, dancing with her father. She remembered dancing with him as a child, how'd she'd have her feet on the toes of his shoes. _All of us girls had done._

"It's hard to believe that you're a woman now." He said, looking at her proudly. He was proud of all his children. He could die happy right now, if only his sons weren't in the middle of fighting a war, and at least not without a grandchild or two.

"You've still got Carrie." Only he still called her Caroline as he was the only one to still call her Katie.

"She's got a few years yet." He agreed. "I think the party is going well don't you?"

"Exquisite." Kate didn't know where this was going. It was clear he had something on this mind. Either he was trying to avoid it or he was trying to find a way to say it.

"It's a shame Andy couldn't get time off for leave in order to attend." She said.

"Admit you're honestly glad. He'd be making a show, breaking all these young ladies hearts."

"Half of them probably deserve it."

The next song played and he changed the subject.

"Your mother was in a frightful state about tonight. That some soldier would whisk you away...before she could present you to the finest men of her choosing."

"I got other things on my mind."

"I told her as such. I was worried a bit too. Now I think it was a good idea, don't you?"

Kate nods.

They danced in silence to the music, "So have you been enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely."

He smiled, enjoying the night himself, yet she could tell he was deeply troubled. About her? About the boys?

"One of the soldiers has already caught your eye, I take it?" He gave her a wink.

"It's just a bit of fun papa."

"My dear Katie, you know you cannot lie to me." He probably followed her gaze to where Jack is sitting. "Wait, if you can, till after the war. To get married. I want you to be happy but I want you to protect your heart. At least until peace time. Which will be soon. The Americans have been beating back the Germans. They'll help us win."

Kate could only nod again. When they finished the second dance, she went over to where Jack was.

* * *

Olivia had marveled at the gigantic room, the walls lined with books. "Have you read every book in here?" She asked George.

"Some of them are in Greek." He smirked.

Olivia smiled back but had to look down for she felt herself blushing.

"Beautiful isn't it?" Sybil asked.

Olivia nodded. She had always dreamed of owning a library like this. "It is. It's hard to imagine that places like this still exist."

The door to the library opened and they were interrupted by the presence of a stranger. He apologized and asked if he could have a dance with Sybil before the night was out. He'd been afraid that he wouldn't catch her in time so he had followed her.

She graciously agreed. "Behave you two." She giggled at them.

On their way back to the great hall she got to talking him, when she came across Kate, who was heading to the front door. Probably to get fresh air. Caught up in the moment, she didn't seem to notice Jack. She knew he was there but didn't take much interest. "Sorry to ditch you like this. But I got preoccupied and then...See that nice fellow over there? That's Sir Hugh Stanhill. He goes by Henry. He's a book publisher from Berkshire. And he's just asked me to dance!"

Kate interrupted her clearing her throat, "Sybil, this is Jack."

"Oh. Your Australian. Well, you see it all worked out."

"What worked out?"

"You'll see."

* * *

After their walk on the grounds, Kate joined her sister, minus Josephine, (she was off to who knows where doing who knows what) and her cousin Sybil and her new friend, Sir Stanhill. Jack had finally made his way back into the house. He thought she didn't want to be seen with him so he started to walk past them a bit annoyed. He thought he had scared her off by kissing her too soon, she had been startled. She had been in a hurry to get back to the house, making an excuse that her guests would worry. He was starting to wonder if he had imagined it all.

But then she waved him over.

Jack introduced Caroline, teasingly on her request, that'd he'd have to introduce her to his officer friends, He introduced her to his RAF Captain. Instantly there was something there between them.

The Captain took interest in Henry, knowing his family was in the publishing business.

"Sir Hugh Stanhill, is it?"

"I go by Henry. Hugh Stanhill is my father."

"Yes, I think I've heard of him. Your family owns a publishing company?"

"That's right."

"We'll let you two get acquainted." Sybil said. She and Olivia stood to the side while the two men talked, while Kate and Carrie chatted, in the distance. They two had dismissed themselves, _we'll just be over here. There's something I want to talk to Carrie about." _

_"I think he's great." Carrie was saying to Kate. _

_To which her sister replied, "I think he's bit too old for you." _

_"There won't be that many young men around after the war." _

_"Even so..."_

"There's one thing you have in common Oliver." Sybil said, talking over them. They were both named after their father's. "I don't think he's very much into reading though."

"That's alright. Not remotely interested." Olivia caught her friend's gaze, you think you might be?"

Sybil didn't have to answer, she looked completely awe struck as she gazed at Henry.

The girls came back into the fold to rejoin Henry as the Captain had to leave for the night. Caroline followed, wanting to ask him something. As they went out, Josephine was coming in, finally deciding to join the party. No one probably noticed or cared that she had been gone most of the night. She was twenty-one and capable of her own decisions.

Kate had noticed her. She probably had been hiding out somewhere with the butler's son, Kate guested.

Henry witnessed one of Josephine's 'moods', making a fuss at one of the servants. The servant was a young girl that appeared no more than fifteen. Josephine had her in tears and the girl ran from the room.

"And you say she's a teacher?" He said it unbelievably.

"She's incredibly nice to the children than anyone else." Kate replied. "When she's with Mama and Papa she's a complete angel."

As the night winded down, everyone said their goodbyes.

"Will I see you again?" Sybil asked as Henry was second to last out the door. Carrie was still in the corner, talking with the Captain.

"If we are meant to cross paths again." Henry replied.

"I hope I didn't disappoint."

"No, not at all."

"I meant with the dancing." She didn't really mean the dancing. She was worried that he was quickly losing interest.

"Oh." He sounded a bit flustered. She doubted that he was one that was hardly ever to. "You will write to me?" Or one to so darling hope.

"Yes." She said, her eyes lighting up. "Of course."

Carrie practically skipped over to them. "I got a job!"

"What?" Surprise from Josephine.

"It's just pouring tea for the RAF officers, since I'm not old enough for anything else yet. But it's a job!"

* * *

It was his last day before his leave was over. He'd be leaving in the morning. He hadn't seen Josephine most of that day. He was hoping to see her before he was off.

They met up in the drawing room, later that night. George was sitting in a chair, reading a newspaper, waiting for her like an disappointed parent. "And where have you been?" He was a bit upset but in fact, in times like these he wouldn't know what he would do without his sister. He had always looked up to her. Not only was she warm, loving, (to most people she was far from it, but not to him) and wise. She told things how they were with a truthful bluntness. He trusted her and took her advice, even though he was the oldest.

"I had to rescue Billy."

"What did he do now?"

She described what condition he was in when she had to pick him up from a pub. "It's obvious he'd been in a fight. He's staying at my cottage." She had one rented out, connected to the schoolhouse in the village. "I couldn't well sneak him back into the servants quarters like that."

"Honestly, I don't know what you see in him. You have a habit of choosing people who are complete wrong for you."

"You could talk. How are things going with Sophie?"

"I called it off. For good this time." He added, when she gave him a look like she didn't believe it. "She only wanted to marry for my title so it would solidify her place. She told me once my life bored her and she had no interest living in the country. She'd marry me, we'd have our heir than she'd be free to join the part scene and travel to exotic places, she's so fascinated by. After the war of course."

"Did she actually say that?"

He nodded.

"Wow." And she thought that she was a real peace of work.

"That's why I broke things off." He said.

"Good, now you have the good sense to not go back to her. Is there anyone else you have on your mind or do you want to live foot loose and fancy free?"

"For the time being. There doesn't seem to be anyone I fancy."

"What about Miss Weston? She seems rather nice and genuine."

"Olivia? I think of her as more as a friend."

"You'll meet someone you really like, Georgie. When you least expect it." She went over to the wine cabinet and poured herself a glass.

"How do you know? Is there anyone else on your mind?"

"Not particularly, no."

"What about your Mr. Parker?" He gave her a glance.

"It didn't pan out." She picked up her glass, draining it's contents. _She's at the bottom of the ocean. Food for the fishes. _Maybe if she had convinced her to stay in the village, or she could have run away with her. But then she would be at the bottom of the ocean. What that would have done to Papa.

It would bring shame and scandal to the family if it was discovered. It would utterly destroy him if he knew. Here he was, a strong Christian man and his daughter might be a lesbian. She jokingly thought in her head. Was she? She didn't know what she was. Men didn't repulse her, come to think of it. She quite enjoyed their attention.

"And your Duke? You're still seeing him?"

"What do you think?"

"Does he know he's not the only one?"

"He understands that their might be others, but he believes there's no competition and he'll have my hand."

"And will you let him have his way?"

"He's the only realistic option if nothing else comes along."

It seemed happiness was far away to them, with failed attempts at love, wondering if they'd ever find it. They were expected to. They were uncertain what they wanted for themselves. This war had turned their world upside down.

* * *

_ April 1944_

It was nearly a year since Charlotte's death. The village was to throw a concert for the troops. Jo had even volunteered to sing. She had a marvelous singing voice, she had been told. She had inherited that from her father. One of her earliest memories of him was going a carriage ride with him and Katie. His baritone voice would drift back to them from the front. And she would stick her hand out through the flap, feeling the wind flow over her fingers.

After her two numbers were up, she found she had worked herself up an apatite and went over to the buffet table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man come up to her. The uniform he was wearing wasn't a military uniform. He must be part of the group preforming for the soldiers. He was giving her 'the eye' her mother had always cautioned her about. She wasn't going to tell him that she wasn't interested. The trick was to be less flattering as possible. He'd get the point.

Instead of introducing himself, he gave her a compliment,

"Has anyone ever told you, you look like Ava Gardner?" He spoke with an American accent.

"They don't actually." When she turned to face him he saw the rest of his profile. He was tall and had dark features. His eyes as brown as her own.

"I'm Nicholas Forsythe."

"Josephine Crawley." She said it off handedly like she wanted him to go away.

"Of course you are." Word was in the village she'd taken over as ice queen from her mother. As first instincts go, he very much doubted that. He'd like to put that to the test with her patience. "In that case you probably get compared to Katherine Hepburn."

She looked nothing like..."Oh?" Now he was really testing her patients. Why wouldn't he just take the hint?

"You know the one who plays the unfriendly but eccentric English types?" He continued.

"We don't blurt out everything we think when we first meet someone. It's just the sort a prim English snob would say." It was clear he wanted to dance with her but didn't get straight to the point. She wondered if this was an American thing. She had never met her American Grandmother. She had died long before she and her siblings were born.

He was wearing the same smile he had flashed at her the moment he had walked into the tent and his eyes had caught her. "Let's pretend we didn't get off on the wrong foot."

"Are you going to ask me to dance or what?" She asked, annoyed. Wasn't that how a great romance began? She couldn't say that she was interested in that way. She supposed she could use a friend.

Figuring he wasn't going to give up, she humored him, allowing him once dance. She didn't pay much attention to him, it was elsewhere, observing numerous couples that were obviously in love. Her eyes scanned over the rest of the dancers till they fell on her youngest sister dancing with a young soldier, then on Kate. Her younger sisters had found love. Would she? Would she ever be free to love who she wanted?

Kate and Jack were clearly enjoying themselves, dancing together as if the engaged couple were already newlyweds. They were married a few weeks later, after knowing each other for four short months. Matthew and Mary were concerned, that the couple didn't know each other well enough, that it was just a war romance that would fizzle out. But they trusted their daughter. Jack had to go back to his duties just after a few days, no time for a real honeymoon. Kate was devastated. Not because of that, because they got to spent little time together as husband and wife.

It was a surprise when Andy and George had gotten leave at the same time, it raised her spirits. The family was overjoyed but they had to be prepared that this might be the only instance that they would be home at the same time. Before the adults knew it, the young wanted to spend time with their own. They made an exception for Mary to join them when they went out riding horses. The only ones who didn't join was Matthew and Andy. They both never understood the fascination. George teases Andy that he used to be afraid of them, that he couldn't go anywhere near them when he was younger without wailing like a baby. Andy protested, not remembering, or was claiming not to remember out of shear embarrassment.

The Crawley children spent most of the day outdoors with their mother. Even Henry had joined them. He loved riding, and was a good at it, as his family owned stables. The Stanhill's had originally made their fortune by breading and selling horses. He shared Sybie's love for them. His father had been spending time with her Aunt Edith. Which felt sort of odd to Sybil since she and Henry were going together. It was unclear if the relationship between Aunt Edith and Henry's father was other than friendship.

Meanwhile, Matthew was starting to feel rather tired, feeling the exhaustion creep in, he decided to go upstairs to have a lie down. Olivia was coming down the stairs.

"Olivia." He said, surprised, I thought you had gone out with the others."

"I was in the library."

"They're out practicing their riding for the hunt on Monday. Will you be joining them?"

"My mother died in a hunting accident when I was really young. My father decided he didn't want his daughter to run the same risks."

"I think if I was your father, I'd feel the same."

She would like him as her father in-law. She wants to tell him that but she couldn't when engagement between her and his son wasn't even on the table. And she doesn't want to make anything awkward. She sensed that it already was.

"I'm going up to rest."

"Do you need any help, Mr. Crawley?" He seemed to be in pain.

"Call me Matthew, my dear. But no. Thanks Oliver."

* * *

George, Caroline, and Kate, brought out their horses out into the field, the sun shining off their blonde hair. Once they were all lined up, George looked down the row.

"They say blondes have more fun." He teased.

Josephine was beside her mother and Sybie who were the only brunettes among them. She came to their defense, "all though we're not the blonde ones doesn't mean we don't know how to have fun." She said with amusement. 'first one round the estate and back is a sore loser." She pulled on her reins, getting a head start.

Sybil and Henry ended up in the lead. At some point he pulled a head of her. She saw the rein of his horse come loose, spooking the horse. As she ushered her horse to go faster, she could see that now his horse was snorting and stomping the ground. It began to buck. Henry tried to grab the rope, it made him loose his balance and the horse flipped him over. He hit the ground with a hard thud.

"Henry." She gasped. She jumped off her horse and ran to him, letting his horse roam free. It will come back when it's calmed down.

It had been a long way to the ground and he lie motionless. When she got to him she was relived to see that his neck wasn't broken. But then with panic, realized, that his chest wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing.

"Henry. Can you hear me? Henry?"

Then he sucked in painful breaths of air. Just the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Oh, thank God." The next thing she knew, she was kissing his face all over. "Oh, my dear, Henry. I thought you were dead."

"It will take more than just a fall from a horse to do that." He smiled and tried to get up. Immediately he grabbed his shoulder and cried out in pain.

She put her hand there. He had dislocated it. She told him to lie back a bit and told him what she was going to do. "It will be sore for a while. It will have to be put in a sling."

"Imagine how that will look on my medical leave records."

"I don't care about that."

"Maybe I can accept that, having a nurse like you to take care of me."

Just then George was riding up with Kate. She told them not to worry. He just hurt his shoulder. "I'll need some cloth to make a sling."

George offered to walk back to the house with him, but Henry was stubborn. He could get back on his horse just fine with one arm.

Kate seemed like she was trying to have fun. Sybil noticed. Maybe she was thinking about her Australian, looking forward to seeing him soon. And she couldn't get her mind off Hugh "Henry" Stanhill.

* * *

"Darling?" When Mary entered the dressing room, she saw he was sitting at this desk, fast asleep. It couldn't be comfortable there. She decided to wake him. Perhaps she could get him to come to bed. He had been spending quite a bit of time up here lately.

He woke, suddenly, a bit startled at first, if he had been dreaming. It took a moment to realise where he was. Mary came into focus. She still had her gear on.

"How was your riding?" He asked.

"Quite marvelous. Although we didn't get round to practice our hunting. The children decided on a race."

"Who won?"

"No one. I'm afraid Henry fell off his horse. He's alright." She quickly added, seeing her husband's worry. He just injured his arm. A doctor will be coming up from the village. Though I can't say the same for you. Do you we need to send a doctor for you as well?" She wasn't serious at first until he answered, almost too quickly.

"No."

"You look a little paled. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm just t...tired."

"I can tell. You always stammer when you're overtired."

"I'm getting old."

"_We're_ getting old."

"You still look beautiful to me." And it was true. At fifty-three she still looked young, unchanged. Except for a few lines he didn't really notice. He wondered if she thought about him that way, except for his hair had lightened and was starting to go gray.

_You're not so bad yourself. _She wanted to say. He was more attractive to her now, not an ounce of fat on him, unlike most men his age. That wouldn't have mattered to her anyway. He looked a bit too thin due to the rationing. She wanted to kiss him and wondered if he would let her. He had become so distant lately. He was hiding his pain from her, this she knew. Instead she made her way over to him and began massaging his shoulders, then his temples. He looked a bit tense.

He moaned as his body seamed to relax, relieving some of the stress.

"Henry will be staying here for a few days until his arm is better. Sybie's request. I think she's really taken with him."

"Before you know it, the children will all move out and start a life of their own. We'll have the whole house to ourselves."

"Not quite yet. We'll have a little bit of time together, for now. Why don't you come to bed?"

He smiled, knowing it was an invitation. "Yes, darling."

They had a full hour to themselves. Lying in their bed they had shared for twenty-five years, caressing each other as if they were young lovers.

It didn't last long, before their children needed them again. Henry was quite the demeaning patient, and Kate needed help with something. Mary had gone to help, she had let Matthew rest. As she left the room she heard him coughing. She hoped it wasn't anything serious. As she entered Katie's room she caught the sight of boxes of various sizes strewn about. She was preparing for the processes of move out over the next few days.

Jack had bought a house in the village where they would live for the rest of their lives, and raise their children. Matthew was glad to see her so happy, a little weary of how long that happiness would last. It wasn't just the uncertainty of war, she barely knew the man. It appeared to be love at first sight like it had been for him and Mary. Even though she was angry at him that day, a life time ago, she had confessed to him that she was certain that it had been that way for her as well.

Mary and Caroline helped her get the house ready for a house warming for when he was next on leave. They were hanging the streamers when the doorbell rang. There stood an officer with a telegram.

Only three months after their marriage Jack Heaton's plane was shot down over Germany. There was no body to recover. His plane had caught fire upon impact.

Mary could only hold her daughter as she sunk onto the stairs.

* * *

For the next week, she grieved. She was tired of people feeling sorry for her._ "Poor, girl._" They would whisper, when she went to visit his grave. Even though he was not there. His body could not be recovered or there had been nothing left to recover. Yet he was all around her.

"She's still young."

"She'll get over this mistake and marry someone from her own class."

Like Jack's death was somehow her fault. Some German had shot him down. It's this war's fault, the ones who started it, old men, sitting behind the sidelines, that were sending all their young men off to die. What had been more devastating than that was the fact that there wasn't going to be a baby. She would never have Jack's baby.

Then they would talk about Josephine, her 'perfect sister', who managed to snatch up a Duke. Josephine would brag about it herself like it was the most important thing and there wasn't a war on. While Kate knew she was secretly seeing the butler's son. She hadn't made anything official to the Duke.

George and Jo were the favored Crawley children when it came to members outside of the family. As the eldest children, they were expected to have high expectations. Perhaps Jo couldn't handle the pressure. She was a lot like their mother at that age.

"Either you have it or you don't."

She turned around on her heals to face the ladies. "I don't appreciate being insulted. My husband just died." She felt like slapping them, to cry in anger.

She turned to storm away but someone grabbed her arm. It was their cook, Ms. McKenzie, often called "Ms. Mac" or simply "Mac" by the family. The girls always had the best relationship with her. She had been a grandmotherly figure to them and had often turned to her for advice. She was only one of the few others that knew Jo wasn't superficial as she appeared, the walls she developed around herself.

Mac shooed the busybodies away.

"You will feel better than this. Maybe not for a long time yet, but you will."

"Will I?"

"Yes. You just keep living. Till you are alive again."

* * *

Josephine didn't want to interrupt her sister when she saw her in the cemetery. The town gossips were talking about her. She decided to hang back. Kate would blame her angrily, in her grief. Even if her sister wasn't angry, she would blame her in some way.

She wanted to go comfort her sister but she would be showing weakness and besides Mac had showed up and but an end to it. Good Ol' Mac always knew what to say. She said she should end it with the butler's son, Billy, and stay with her Duke. Downton's original staff had moved on or were no longer living. Her mother still kept in contact with her old maid, Anna. Her son Johnny was the same age as Andy. They had befriended each other during training, off all of the places to run into each other. Their paths had crossed as if it had been fate. She worried about her brothers, and all the people they have lost so far.

In times of sorrow or sadness or when she was unsure of what to do, she'd walk through the village, stopping through the graveyard. Often times she came to see Charlotte.

Papa had allowed her to have a grave for her, even though she wasn't from the village, even though there was no body. Her body had been lost at sea. So many other's had been lost. Like Jack. How many of their own would not come back? How many graves would be empty? Mother's and father's burying empty caskets?

The vase was filled with flowers. She sat down on the grass and leaned against the headstone.

They were the same age with the same out look on life, the same dreams, chasing a future just within grasp. Until the wretched war. It took away everything beautiful. It took away something from her papa, long before she was born. She had always felt something missing there, ever since that one day she had witnessed that episode at the breakfast table. It had frightened and also worried her. Now it angered her. She had been denied of that, of knowing what kind of father he could have been. There was no denying that Papa loves her, that he loves all of them but something in him had gone away.

_It takes papas away too. __Young lovers, friends, that you should be with for ever, parents burying sons and daughters that should outlive them. War kills everything._

In her mind she could see her dearest friend as if she was with her, sitting next to her, could hear her voice, the musicality of it being carried on the wind.

_Not everything._

Her mind went back to the flowers.

There was still beauty in the small things.

More worse news was to come. George was listed missing in action a month later in October. Mary thought she'd seen him in one of the beds, among the other soldiers. She ran upstairs to tell Matthew. He came down, following her as fast as he could. But of course it wasn't him. She was hoping it, that's why she saw him, Matthew thought, she's recalling a familiar memory when he had once lied in one of those beds.

"But, I thought it was him."

"It wasn't him, sweetheart."

They held onto each other.

* * *

Matthew was startled awake that it had nearly startled her. He had never had a nightmare about the war in a long time.

"What is it, darling? Is it a nightmare?" She asked him, already turning to comfort him, but he tried to pull away as if he had to get somewhere or to someone.

"He's...he's hurt."

"Who's hurt?" She half expect him to say William, that he had been dreaming about the first war again. Given previous events, with this war escalating, it had been like standing on her toes. Like she was waiting for the shell shock to represent itself. _He's stronger than you give him credit for. _She heard her son's voice clear as day. She was surprised when their sons name fell off his lips.

"George. He's still alive. But he's hurt. I can't...I can't get to him." His son was lost and in pain and he couldn't do anything.

"You were only dreaming. It was a dream." She tries to calm him, hearing the panic in his voice. He believed that it had been real. Maybe he was still half in a dream.

"No. It was real. He's alive Mary."

"I want to believe you are right. But we can't be certain. I saw George in that bed because I wanted to believe it."

"This was different."

She didn't want to protest him anymore. _Let him believe it for now._ Part of her old self wanted to surface. She didn't want him to be right, because then that would mean he could sense that their son was hurt, and she could not. "I'll go and check with the war office tomorrow but we can't be certain. Right now, we can only hope."

"And pray."

"Yes. We must pray." Mary agreed, even though she had given up on praying a long time ago. What other alternative was there?

* * *

The next evening at dinner Kate told her parents she wanted to sign up with the war office to volunteer.

"I'll be staying in the village for now but I can't sit idly by."

"Sounds good." Her father replied. "I have business to attend to in the morning. I can have the chauffeur drive us into the village tomorrow, so you can register with the war office." And in the mean time check in for George, after Mary. He would have to time it wisely. Then he would go see a doctor in Ripon. The doctor in the village, Dr. James believed the prolonged coughing to be from an infection, chest cold or bronchitis. He wanted to get a second opinion. It wasn't going away. He'd say the same thing and he'd be given another course of antibiotics.

"I hardly think there will be many opportunities. What would they have me do? Changing bed bands for veteran soldier, or sitting in an office like you, or making tea like Carrie? They're looking for able bodied people. I'm able bodied and useful...sorry papa." She flushed with embarrassment for unintentionally insulting him.

"I know you don't mean anything by it. You're just frustrated." He was often too humble.

Kate nodded and took a sip of her tea. "I was thinking of training to become a nurse."

"You mean like Sybie?" Mary asked, you're not thinking of joining the VAD."

"I promise I won't be volunteering overseas." She wanted to stay near home. They had enough to worry about with George missing. She was more worried about her parents, especially Papa. He would worry about her. Papa loved all his children equally but sometimes she felt that Jo and Caroline were 'his girls" even Sybie. She was the middle child. "I was thinking of volunteering at the war office in Ripon."

"Can't you volunteer here at Downton, like you have been?" Mary was trying to hide her disapproval. It wasn't that she didn't want her to be a nurse, her own sister had wanted to be one. She wanted her daughter to stay closer to home.

"I won't learn real proper skills. I need to train and learn, so that after the war I can find a job."

Mary's tea cup clattered back on her saucer.

"I think it's a marvelous idea." Matthew was encouraging and accepting, how could he not? "After I'm finished with the office, I'll be going up to Ripon. I can see you off at the train station."

"Won't you need assistance? It sounds like you have such a busy day tomorrow. You'll need to rest in between won't you?"

"I'll have my valet along. And I might have to stop by the house for a short R&R. If you don't mind waiting in between."

" No thank you, papa. I'd like to move on as soon as I can."

The rest of the night, Mary was quiet and would only make huffing sounds, while they sat in the library, trying to do his work. He wore glasses now for reading. When he could no longer try to focus, he took them off and looked up at her.

"She's grieving." He said. "In her own way. We need to let her."

"By letting her run away from her problems?"

"She's not running away. She needs to be somewhere that isn't a reminder."

"She'll be surrounded by wounded soldiers. How is that not a reminder?"

"It will help her, if she helps someone."

"One of your insufferable flaws." She didn't mean for it to sound harsh to hurt him. Y_ou've sent our sons away, now you want to send away our daughter?_ She knew that it wasn't his fault. It couldn't have been avoided. It seems they'd been distant since Andy had gone away. She couldn't imagine how this was effecting him, because he wouldn't let her see. It was just as hard. He always looked for the positive, every silver lining, putting others before himself, it was a far cry than the damaged and scarred man he had become in the first war. He was moving on. Without her. She had her own damage and her own scars. Their sons risking their lives everyday. They might lose their daughter too, in a different way. And he was the one holding the family up, through these dark, depressing times, never thinking of himself.

Her dear, sweet, Matthew. How did she ever get to deserve him?

"We can't hang onto her forever, old girl." It was a new term of endearment that he had started to call her. He took her in to his arms, pulling her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "We can't hang on to all of them. They're growing up. We need to stand back and let them find their way or they'll never find their place in this world." She knew he was right. "I see no harm in it. It will help her get her mind off things."

"Carrie still needs some mindful watching. She's only seventeen."

"You might be right there, but I know she can do alright for herself. They all will."

All of their lives seemed to be spiraling.

Caroline was still seeing her RAF captain.

They had no idea he was married of course. Even when Caroline found out, it didn't seem to matter. A boy from the village who was sixteen, a year younger than her, was concerned about her. That she was making a mistake. He also had a crush on her.

"You don't know anything. You're just a child!" She told him when she informed her that he'd seen him with another woman.

"You're not much older than me." He stated. When the wife found out about Caroline, she threatened Mary with scandal unless she put an end to it. When Matthew found out, he actually punched the man.

Caroline befriended an officer about her age, Miles Finch, after he had witnessed the whole thing. He hadn't been fond of the Captain, having quite enjoyed it. He had helped with her papa, after he had swung at the Captain, knocking the Captain flat. It had drained papa, his legs giving out. He seemed to have prevented it, as if not to give the Captain the satisfaction, till he stormed off, giving an obscenity about his wife, that he'll make sure that bitch won't list Carrie's name in the papers.

She demanded Miles to get his wheelchair in the back seat of the car. He was quick thinking, immediately jumping into action, instinct from his training or had he always been like that, Carrie wondered.

He retrieved it from the back seat and helped her maneuver him into the wheelchair. She often brought him round for dinner after that. They even attended the concert for the soldiers in the village recently and they'd go to the pictures.

He was a lovely fellow. Both Mary and Matthew thought. He didn't care about her little dalliance with a married man, but Caroline tried to keep her at arms length. Carrie discovered she was two months pregnant, at eighteen. Miles asked her hand in marriage. He was born of high class himself, Viscount Warren. He hadn't mentioned it for many reasons, he wanted people to know him and judge him by his character, not by his status. He wanted to be sure that Carrie wanted to be with him for him. She was briefly mad at him for that.

He hadn't cared that he would be raising another man's child. Mary told her what her maid Anna had once told her, that there weren't that many good men in this world and she was lucky to have found one in Miles. That put an end to her cold feet. Their marriage would be set in the following year, while the pregnancy was still not noticeable. They didn't tell Matthew. Mary and Miles planned she would spend time with his family once they were married, and they would go on an 'extended honeymoon."

* * *

_15 December, 1944_

Glenn Miller, papa's favorite band composer, had gone missing. Josephine remembers it well because it's the day after her twenty-second birthday, five days after would be Sybie's birthday and six days later on boxing day, would be Caroline's. December 15th was also the day Andy is reported missing in action. Neither of his sons would be home for Christmas.

That evening, Mary felt her emotions running high, feeling claustrophobic. The peaceful convalescence of the soldiers seemed more like the an invasion. She had snapped at Edith when she had asked if she could do anything to help. It wasn't about helping to make sure that the soldier were comfortable and their needs were being met. What Mary was feeling boiled to the surface, blaming her sister that she was lucky that Jay was out of it. If he had been born a year or two earlier.

But she had stopped herself from saying anything further. "I've got other responsibilities I need to manage." And she continued on her way.

As she lie in bed that night with her husband, it was him who comforted her. He held her in her arms as she sobbed.

"They'll come home. One of them will." He whispered, gently to her, as if it would ease both of their pain.

"With both of them go...going missing, and with Sybie putting herself in danger, not to mention along with everything else, it was all too much. I lashed out the nearest person and it just happened to be Edith. I was absolutely horrid to her. I blamed her for Jay not being old enough to go."

"She'll forgive you. She's your sister." He held her to him tightly. "They'll come back." He repeated._ One of them has to. _

"And if they don't?" She lifted her head up from the crook of his neck to look at him.

"We'll survive it. Together, and with the girls."

"The three Crawley sisters." Mary slightly laughed trying not to let the tears fall again. "I never imagined saying that again." She paused. "Do you really thing we'll have the strength to survive it?"

"The Crawley's are strong enough to face anything."

"If it's meant to be, if it's time to let Downton go, I will." There would be no heir to carry on the line if both of their sons..."None of that matters. You and the girls mean more to me. You always have."

* * *

He had shut himself in his dressing room again and wouldn't come down. He would listen to his Glen Miller records on end, over and over.

Mary comes in with a tray of food. She watches as he stares blankly at the record, watching it go round and round. She gets his attention, saying she brought him his dinner. He climbs into the bed and she carries the try over to him but he hardly touches anything. When the record ends, he says, "again"

She plays the record over. Her back turned, she lets the tears escape. He's shutting himself off, his mind like a broken record, like the records he plays over and over. She recalls their discussion they had, their first year of marriage, when Sybil had died that winter. She had discovered that the shell shock had affected him in other ways, not just in the form of nightmares. She had asked him to explain it to her, when he 'went away' when he was awake, what it felt like. _"It's like I'm losing control of my mind. Like something else takes over. I feel my mind is slipping away, sometimes I think how much I want to stay there, how easy it would be to let it. But I can't let myself because I know you won't let me. How briefly I can let it, it's a relief." _

Was his mind slipping away now? Or was this endless playing of records to help him cope or to distract himself from thinking the worst?

With the news of Caroline's upcoming wedding, he came out of it, taking interest in things again.

He was even better on Christmas Eve. Miss Weston had come to stay with Sybie at Downton, attending their Christmas Eve party, that they(Mary and the girls weren't going to have) but Matthew decided that they should. They needed a little holiday cheer. Miss Weston and Sybie played the piano, Miss Weston singing. Her presence seemed to fill the empty void. Mary didn't have to imagine what it must be like for the young woman, she clearly carried a torch for George.

The soldiers, that were well enough, eventually joined them. Some had even joined along with the singing.

If you were the only girl in the world, and you were the only boy, was one of the next songs. Mary turned her attention to Matthew who was muttering the words. She started singing the words, loud enough to hear because the girls and even the soldiers ushered and cheered for her to sing. Caroline encouraged her father, as well, he pretended to be bashful but his youngest wasn't buying it. "Come on, Papa! I know you have a good singing voice."

He finally relented.

At the end of the song, the girls had had enough, calling it quits. Sybie and Kate were about to take the soldiers back to their beds, when the peaceful atmosphere of the night had been broken.

The whole house rattled as the sound of planes flew of Yorkshire. Everyone stood still. Mary stood close to her husband, as the air siren began. It wasn't till then that some of the soldiers started to show signs of distress. The orderlies and nurses calmed them.

She looked at Matthew, who had his eyes closed. Was he praying, that wherever those planes were headed did not reach their sons, not trying to think of the memories of war that haunted him?

Or the devastation of the realization that they were safe, tucked away in the Yorkshire country side, had been a dream, an illusion?

Josephine had noticed, the most of all, and Kate realized it too. He had wanted to keep them safe as long as he could, anyway he could. Now it was inevitable.

They would soon realize on the early hours of the morning, that on the Christmas Eve Manchester had once again been bombed.

It had first been raided in September of 1940 around the same time of the London Blitz. Manchester had been where Papa had grown up. He had spend a quarter of his life there, where his life had been changed forever. Their Grandfather, naming him as his heir and future Earl to the estate, wanting to change his and Grandma Isobel's lives.

Kate wondered what his life would have been like if he had never left his home. But home was was not a relative concept to him now. Home was where they were. It did not appear to effect him. It was simply a town filled with sentiment.

Still all those memories, gone up in smoke. Memories of Grandma Isobel and a grandfather that died before she was born.

When he heard that the Palace Theatre on Oxford Street was bombed, his demeanor had changed.

But a last, he was more concerned about London. They family didn't have any close friends there, and were spared that kind of pain but papa could potentially lose half his business, with the third of London destroyed. 32,000 lives were taken.

On 11 March 1941 Old Trafford football stadium, the home of Manchester United F.C., was hit by a bomb aimed at the industrial complex of Trafford Park. In June 1941 German bombs damaged the police headquarters. Then on 7 December 1941,the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. Further loss of life, And 17 December, 1941 the Americans joined the war.

She was perturbed how he could be so cool about the continuous massive loss of life.

"It's a good thing we have no personnel connections there, but we could fall on hard times, some of your finances are tied up in London, but I'm sure we'll find away. Hard times in deed." And when the Americans had joined the war, "we'll beat them back in no time. We'll have a better chance now."

He was trying to find every silver lining, a positive outcome.

She had become numb by it by 1943, the senseless bombing and fighting. Although she had not witnessed it herself, she understood her father's own reaction to it, in a way. Perhaps if he let himself feel every ounce of it, he'd lose himself.

Everyone else were on their toes, wondering where the Germans would bomb next. Yorkshire was not too far away from Manchester.

The Manchester Blitz, the Christmas Blitz, it would be called.

Matthew took charge of this situation. "Alright, everyone knows were to go. Line up accordingly and stick together." He directed the last words to Josephine. Lightly grabbing her arm, squeezing it. She nodded, taking her sisters by their hand, to make a chain. It felt ridiculous as they were grown women, but they had to stay together. Two Crawley siblings were lost to them, for now. She'd rather now than the not knowing. Matthew nodded after them as his eldest daughter led the charge.

He turned to Mary. Mary saw that he was inwardly panicking.

Early on in the war, they had practiced. During their first drill, he had taken her to the side and told her if he couldn't make it in time, if he wasn't quick enough, that she should leave him.

_"No." She had said. "I would come back for you." _

He had had an episode then. She could feel him start to tremble as she lead his down the stairs, descending into the darkness of the cellar. It must have reminded him of the pitch black bunker, or that he was buried. She had held onto him tightly hoping he wouldn't fall. He came to rest against the brick wall, Mary still holding onto him.

_"Dark, too dark...I can't..."_

_ Jo, realised what was going on. Mary could tell it was her from her breathing. As her eyes adjusted, the light from the tiny window helping a bit, she could make out that she was holding her father's hands. _

_"We're right here with you, Papa. We're in the cellar, you're safe." _

_ Kate had even came over to assist, somehow finding them. "__It's alright, Papa. Just listen to our voices."_

_"We need...need a light."_

_"We can't, Papa." _

_"They'll see us." _

_"Yes." Jo said. _

_Kate turned her head to her sister, possibly giving her a scowl. "It's only just a drill." She took charge and guided him to a box of crates to sit. _

He didn't have another one after that, nor they once more made their way down to the pitch black cellar. Waiting, waiting for the bombs that would not come. Probably just another drill. But one could not be so sure.

Mary drew her attention to her daughters and her niece, and Olivia, who were gathered around each other, planning Carrie's wedding. She had to smile.

Though times could be dark with no light within reach, the Crawley's always found a way.

She could hear Matthew start coughing beside her. It was rather dusty in here and the vibrations from the planes had kicked up some dirt particles, that were swirling around in the air.

"She's only known Miles for three months, that's one less than you've know Jack before your marriage." One of the girl's was saying. It was still too soon for Kate to talk about. She dismissed herself and went over to her parents. She sat down next to her father, she had heard him coughing earlier, that was how she could tell what direction they were in. She sat down next to papa, and her mother who was sitting on the other side of him. They were sitting on a crate.

As she sat down his coughing started again. She felt him accidently nudge her as he took out his handkerchief. The coughing sounded absolutely wretched now.

When it stopped, he tucked it back in his pocket. Kate saw how quickly he had done it. He locked eyes with her for a few seconds. It was too dark to see the panic and fear in his eyes. He turned to her mother. Mary and Kate both looked at him worriedly.

"It's just a cough." He reassured with a smile. Then he turned away. "No need for you two girls to worry. For any of you."

_January__, 1945_

The week of the wedding, Edith and Bertie were both able to attend, as he was home on leave. They had a surprise for them all, making them all wait, impatiently. Jay then came through into the dinning room. He had grown a few several feet, almost as tall as his father now, at sixteen! He'd be seventeen next month. They hadn't been expecting him to come home from school as the holidays were already over.

Mary was the first to give him a hug, "Look at you! Edith, darling, how lovely you look as well, Incredible you should be the mother of this fine grown up young man."

"Not grown up yet, according to her. But I keep her feeling young. Don't I mama?"

"For now you do, James, yes. I don't want you growing up any more though."

"I'll try."

"It's hard to believe that both of you are mother's to grown children." Matthew said, then toward Jay, "If you succeed, I hope you'll share your secret with the rest of us. Now, Bertie, why don't you sit next to Mary, Tom's going to be late, detained by some tenants or other, and Jo, you sit here next to me, and then you, young man!" He said to his nephew.

The wedding took place in the church. Matthew had looked his happiest that his youngest was getting married. He hoped the same for all his children soon. His daughters seemed to be doing fine for themselves. Kate had finished her nursing training, Josephine was still teaching at the school in the village and Caroline, who had also joined the war effort, having a job at the RAF office, was now going to be married, and with any hope, a grandchild would be soon on the way. He and Mary had done a fine job raising their children. They had raised three independent, intelligent and capable women. He was trying not to think of George and Andy. There was still no word from the war office on either of them. He and Mary took turns checking, a revolving door, (not just metaphorical, the war office had a revolving door that brought a fore-looming sense), of endless hope. _No thoughts of that_. _Today is a happy day._ He was still worried about Josephine. He caught sight of her, standing beside Kate, waiting for the bride.

"Josephine looks pretty." He turned to Mary sitting beside him in the pew, at the front of the church. "I suppose she will be next. Though she never seems too serious about that sort of thing."

"She's young for her age." Mary replied.

"Do you know if she's set her sights on anyone?" He hoped she would have a man on her mind, and move on from Charlotte. He had seen her broken to pieces. And she had recently ended it with her Duke, which was a relief.

"Not that I know of." Mary was saying.

"You have made me a very lucky man. I have a very beautiful wife and six lovely children. Thank you darling." Matthew leaned in and discretely kissed her cheek.

_Six. _He was counting Beth. Their child who had never drawn breath. He must be thinking of her looking down on them. Mary thought. All of them who couldn't be here.

* * *

**Real History: **

**(from Wikipedia) Glenn Miller** was an American big-band trombonist, arranger, composer, and bandleader in the swing era. He was the best-selling recording artist from 1939 to 1942. While he was traveling to entertain U.S. troops in France during World War II, Miller's aircraft disappeared in bad weather over the English Channel on 15 December, 1944. He was forty years old.

**VAD: Voluntary Aid Department: **civilian run origination, providing volunteer nurses from the UK and other various countries in the British Empire. Active in WWI and well as in WWII.

**The London Blitz/Manchester Blitz**: The London Blitz took place 7 September, 1940- 11 May, 1941. In September of 1940 Manchester was also bombed. Manchester was bombed again Christmas Eve of 1944, the planes flying over Yorkshire.

**AHS **_**Centaur**_ hospital ship attacked and sunk by a Japanese submarine on 16 May 1943 off Queensland, Australia. Of the 332 medical personnel and crew aboard, 268 died.

**AN: It took a long time to write this chapter as I had writers block. I love writing for all the Crawley children and their potential love interests. Now I'm unsure where I can take this next, What Josephine's 'big secret' is. Will George fall for Miss Weston, if he returns. What about Andy, a bit like Mary's playboy Uncle, as I've described him, if he also makes it back, will he settle down with anyone? And what about Sybil's dear Henry Stanhill, are they meant to be? The last year of the war approaches but anything could still happen, enough time for more heartbreak and tragedy. And will Matthew's illness be serious or would be keep it from Mary?**

**Unforeseen outcomes make for hard times for the Crawley family even after the war ends.**


	10. The Things They Carried Part 1

_Chapter 10: The Things They Carried Part 1_

_Description__: The war draws to a close. It's end and post-war will bringing trouble to the Crawley Family that will leave it changed for ever!_

_February 1945_

A few days after the wedding, Caroline and Miles left for their honeymoon. Kate would be going back to the hospital. The house would be empty, apart from Josephine, and Sybie would be coming to stay. She didn't bring her friend Henry like everyone had anticipated. Kate asked about him.

"As it happens, I had to end it." Sybie answered. "There were far too many things we didn't have an understanding on. A great number of things." Her voice shown evidence that there had been some unpleasantries between them. "I've recently been going with this Doctor. Killian Evans. He's Irish like Papa." They couldn't stand each other at first but then after their station was attacked by Germans, and they worked together to get the patients and staff to safety, they had formed a bond. No one had died but there had been a few wounded.

Kate tried to stay interested in what her cousin was saying but she couldn't hardly take here eyes off her Papa all through dinner. He looked so thin, his eyes sunken by shadows. For an instant she had a sense that someone else was observing too. Across the table she caught her older sister's gaze that had briefly been focused on their father (from the way her head had been angled) but Jo quickly shifter her eyes away.

"May I be excused, Mama? Papa? I want to get some riding in before the sun sets."

An hour later when she came back in Kate asked her if she had noticed anything.

"He is getting older Katie. What is he, sixty?" Jo took off her hat and set it on the floor next to her boots.

Kate would demand her to pick them up so Papa wouldn't trip or wheel over them but for now she had more pressing concerns. She'd probably say something snide like, _that's what the servants are for._

Jo continued on before she could say something else, "You're looking too much into this because you're a nurse." Perhaps she was right, Kate thought. "Papa, would tell us if he was ill, wouldn't he? And Mama would know." She said to her younger sister.

"You think she doesn't?"

"I don't know. Time is not so kind on most war veterans, isn't that what they tell you?"

"Depending on their injuries."

"Well I'm sure it isn't that. A lot has been going on. With George and Andy still missing, all the while managing to keep the family together, worrying about the rest of us. He has all that he has to deal with. Maybe it's affected his immune system."

"Maybe." That was quite possible. Though in the back of her mind there was a shred of doubt. "Now, who's the nurse?" Her compliment seemed to roll off her older sister.

"If it worries you that much just ask him. I'm sure it's nothing." Jo struggled with her coat. Kate didn't have anything else to say, and Jo wouldn't want her help, so she left her to it.

Josephine tried hanging up her coat, jumping to try to place it on the hook. She had the looks of her mother but she wasn't as tall as the rest of the family. She and Caroline were short. Finally she managed to get it on the hook but it knocked down her father's coat. She picked it up. His handkerchief was sticking out of the pocket. The one he'd been using in the cellar? She pulled it out and saw the dried spots of blood. Her eyes widened. She was no expert but that couldn't be good. She heard noises not far away and then her mother calling in the distance. "Jo, is that you? Come join us in the library, darling."

"Coming Mama."

Hurriedly she shoved it back in as if any moment it could burst into flames.

_It's nothing. They have enough things to worry about. If something was wrong he would tell us, wouldn't he?_

She composed herself as she made her way to the library. She gave her best smile as she entered, giving the impression that nothing was wrong.

A few hours later the others dismissed themselves up to bed. Matthew was the only one left up. Kate decided to come back down a half hour later. The library was the families place of solace. Mainly hers, her fathers and George's. Jo hardly picked up a book if it didn't have to do with her teaching. Andy wouldn't be caught dead reading. _ Dead. _She shouldn't use that term.

"Papa, you're still up." She said with a bit of surprise. Normally it wouldn't be surprising to see him in the library late at night. But lately he had seemed tired and had been going to bed much earlier.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She shakes her head. "Do you mind if I join you?"

'I would enjoy the company." He smiled. He got out two glasses and a bottle, filling them halfway. He offered one to her but she put her hand up, shaking her head again.

"No thank you, papa." She looked down and then away.

Matthew frowned. Something was troubling her.

"How are you, my dear?"

"Alright."

"Something is obviously troubling you."

She shrugs. Her body slightly sways. A habit from her childhood that had not entirely dissipated. "Just thinking about the boys, had me thinking about Jack."

"I know it must be hard. Almost a year ago." He'd been concerned about how Katie would handle it. It was not easy to see others happy. He had felt guilty every time he'd let himself enjoy things, even the small things, like spending time with the children when they were little, taking them for ice cream, them falling asleep on his lap, or taking them for a carriage ride through the trail, littered with fresh autumn leaves. Many times he had felt guilty. When he had survived the war. When he had learned that he was the only one left of his regiment. When Beth had died. And especially now with his sons were missing. _Something has to happen soon._ _The war office has to have something, on Andy at least. It's only been two months. _

"I'm doing better, Papa." Her eyes shift to the gun in his hands, lied flat in the palm of his hand, his fingers curled around it. Her eyes widened. _Surely Papa wouldn't. _No. He was too proud for that. She swore if she saw another gun, she would throw every last one of them in the river, if she could. Little did she know, he hadn't been thinking about it, but it had drawn him back to that dark day, where he had thought about it.

He must of read her worry. "My old service revolver." He said, putting it back in the drawer. "I was just cleaning it." He had gotten rid of everything else apart from it, his red mess jacket, and his old war medal. Mary most have gotten it back from Mr. Mason before or after his death and placed it there. Charlie Mason most likely had listed it to him in his will.

She then noticed the box on the table. It contained a medal of some kind. "Is that a Victoria Cross?"

"I received it in 1919. I don't know how I'm going to tell George or Andy, if they..."

"They will. I have a feeling."

He nodded. He had that feeling as well. They'd both be fine. They'd be home soon and this war would end.

"He'll be able to handle it." Kate continued. "They both will, if I can. You can practice with me." She sat in a chair opposite him.

He leaned back in his desk chair, a daunting look on his face. In earlier pictures that she saw of him, in his youth, it had been rounder. Mama had told them once, _he looked like a damn cherub_. She could tell she missed that look of his when she had said it. It looked even thinner now.

_She's seen the horrors. At least what it can do to a man. I can tell her. _

"I never... told any of you what happened in the war. Or your mother much of anything." It was taboo back then, it was still now. He didn't know how to talk to her about the shell shock. If he'd be able to. He'd come to it when he got to it. _At first, start simple. _"I never told you how I got my injury."

Kate recalled it being vaguely explained to them by their mother over the course of their childhood. _Papa's back was hurt and it makes his legs not work right sometimes._

"I was blasted back by a shell," He continued. "and I was thrown up against something." He couldn't tell her about William, how he had saved him. It would take too long. The less time and how much he had to explain, the better.

With her studies and first hand experiences, she knew what type of injury he had sustained. She had been assigned to various wards, one of them had happened to be spinal cases. She wasn't going to tell him that of course. First hand she knows that he wouldn't want her sympathy. "It was an incomplete fracture of the spine with some minor swelling and bruising. You retained some sensation in your legs but no feeling. Most don't regain their mobility. You are fortunate you can walk at all."

"You've learned quite a lot." He beamed proudly. But then was suddenly afraid, _what if her nursing knowledge is extensive enough for her to notice how sick I am? No. She'll just think it's the old war memories. _"It's not just the psychical injuries. The shell shock. It still scars me."

"They're calling it battlefield fatigue now. It's from being under those conditions, the traumatizing situations without a reprieve in-between, the mind doesn't have enough time to process it all."

He smiled again at her reasoning. He had just been weak and unprepared. Emotionally. He hadn't blocked off his emotions from the start. And yet he felt it would have made no difference. He had gone numb to his feelings later on, after all killing and seeing all the death. He could never forget. Some parts of the war were still jumbled even after twenty years. "There's somethings you forget and others you can't. The shells and what they did. The fields would be covered" _the mud running like a stream streaked with blood_ "and the trenches..." He paused for a moment, wanting to leave as much graphic detail out as he could. But then he realised, she isn't a child. She doesn't have to be sheltered from this when she has seen such brutality, in the form of the maimed and dying soldiers she cares for. "They had been so packed with the dead. Sometimes we had no time lift them out. There would be nowhere to step. And you'll never forget the stench..." How could he tell her this?

His voice was shaking a bit with emotion as he recalled the memories, as if he was reliving it, as if it were recent. In a way it was, with this current war. Those same things were happening. She came over to him and squeezed his shoulder, "Go on, Papa." telling him that it was ok. She witnessed some of the things. It had changed her too.

He took in a shaky breath before it equalised. "The stench of the rotting corpses." He spoke with more control now. "It was worse after it rained. When it rained it washed away the mud off the shallow graves." _The fires from the shells would still burn, the bodies would still burn, what was left of them. And that's not even the worst. I cannot forget the faces of the people that I killed. _His face was ashen, almost shattered as he was reliving it all over again. Kate wanted to stop this. She should never had brought it up. But they were making progress. It would help him heal.

It all came back to him in a rush, the things he hadn't forgotten as if they happened yesterday. He could never forget the German boy he had killed. He could see the boy's face as clear as day, begging him but it's too late. Just a boy who happened to be on the wrong side. All of them someone's husband, father, son. He had thought it cosmic joke that he was able to live the life of someone who would never live it, because he had snuffed that away. It had turned out the young lad had been a ploy to lure them out. The moment he had let down his guard the boy had tried to shoot him. Wrestling over the gun, it went off, the bullet leaving a hole in the boy's head, his helmet having been knocked off in the scuffle. That still hadn't changed a thing. He had felt guilty about it. He still did and would for ever. The other things he had felt guilty of he had let go, accepting they were things that he couldn't change. But this, he felt he had to hold on to. The gun hadn't gone off by accident. He had pulled it willingly, maliciously in cold blood. He had blocked it out. The day his mind started breaking. He recalled felling relief, the same relief he had felt for Edwards, for the fresh pair of clothes after finding a part of one of his buddies in his uniform. He felt sick. It wasn't just the memory.

"You can stop if you want to Papa." She saw the tears in his eyes, an almost blankness in them. He wasn't away but they were clouded with something else that she noticed all too clearly. They were clouded with grief and guilt.

He held her hand to his shoulder, shaking his head, "No, I need to tell you. You know what the worst of it was?" He sniffed. _Worse than felling relief was,_ "Feeling nothing at all. I felt cold, numb. I didn't let myself feel anything. It changed me. I left part of my mind there that I'll never get back. The man I was, he died in France. I wish you could have met him." He smiled sadly.

"I think I see a part of him sometimes."

"No. It just an illusion. That's what it does."

"I don't quite believe that..."

He continued on as if he hadn't heard her. "I had hoped that it would go away. The shell shock. But it'll always be there. It'll always be a part of me. I've learned to come to terms with it, how to live with it."

"It doesn't effect you as much as before? With this one?"

"No but it could. I've come a long way." _But it could all unravel._ "I can't imagine where I'd be if it weren't for you children and your mother. I..." He looked ill, like he was about to throw up. She knew if he threw up all over the floor he would be embarrassed and if she offered to clean it, even one of the maids.

"I know you're sick Papa. That you've been feeling unwell. Just tell me what it is."

"It's nothing."

"Papa..." She was almost scolding him. Her nursing manner reminded him of Sybil, her late Aunt, who had helped nurse him after he had received his spinal injury. She and Ethel had played key roles in his recovery not just Mary. It dawned on him that he might not recover from this. What ever this mysterious illness was. He was starting to think it was something other than the doctor's initial diagnosis of bronchitis. Things could take a turn and he could get worse. For now he wouldn't worry her or the other children with it. If things were to get to the point where he needed care, he wouldn't let his daughter be his nurse.

"The doctor said it was just an infection."

He was becoming irritable. Proof that he was seriously ill and hiding it? She wouldn't argue with him about it. It could make things worse.

"I'm more susceptible now that I'm getting older, due to my old injury. But it's all managed now. He's got me on a round of antibiotics."

His reassurance did little to ease her mind. But she had to take his word on it. He wouldn't lie to her. "Good. Then all you need to do is rest and take care of yourself Papa. You're running yourself ragged."

* * *

Papa was sick. Jo tried not to think that it was serious. He would have told them. She couldn't help but think, what if he died? He'd never see his sons come home. If they ever did. They'd never see him again. If it ever came to that..._it won't, papa will be fine. He always is._ It wouldn't be fair, that he wouldn't be able to see his sons. Damn this war. It's taken too many lives already. All wars. His injury he received, had weakened his immune system, cutting his life expectancy short. And in a way it had taken him too. His memories of war always lurked in the background. She recalled that one day that her father had ever sounded cold. She'd had a camping trip with her classmates. She had enjoyed it. _"Why don't we ever go camping? It's so much fun!"_

His reply had sent chills through her._ "I spent enough time sleeping on the ground in the war. I promised myself that if I made it home alive, I'd never sleep on the ground again. That's why I won't take you camping."_

She pictured him as young man lying on the muddy ground, surrounded by bodies. That's what he must have been thinking.

She had thought of him as a strong man, he had always looked young to her, older but never 'old' but these recent bouts of coughing, there were periods were it was taking it's toll on him. He was almost always exhausted. He had the health of an old man. His time could be running out and her brothers could not be found. She feared this would take a part in his decline, if they didn't hear anything soon, that he'd give into this mysterious illness.

_Please let them come home. One of them._

She couldn't get her thoughts off her brothers, especially George. She recalled the last conversation with him, in 1943, when he'd last been on leave, talking about their failed loves.

_"Is there anyone else on your mind?"_

_"Not particularly no."_

_"What about your Mr. Parker?" He gave her a glance._

_"It didn't pan out." _

Thinking about her re-opened the pain. When she had told her father the truth, what Charlotte had been to her, she had seen the look on his face. He was already disappointed in her, she thought. Even though he said he never could. Even though she knew his words to be true. She would continue to show them that she was normal.

* * *

Josephine invited her friend, Nickolas Forsythe to dinner.

"So, is this the young man you've been keeping a secret?" Her father jokingly asked. He had known about him. Jo had told him about him. She had said that she really liked him , though at the time she hadn't sounded convinced.

Mary and the girls hadn't heard anything about him. He hoped over time her feelings for Nick would change. He didn't see any prospects for her after she had ended things with her Duke and all the younger men gone off to war, most of whom will never return. Whoever she ended up with he wanted to be someone she could love. If she didn't want to marry and found someone later in life, that was fine by him.

"I met Nick at the concert. He compared me to Ava Gardner and asked me to dance. No matter how many times I refused, he insisted." _That's it. everything is normal._ She does love Nick. "He's part of the SAG. The Screen Actors Guild."

The fellow was nice as she had said. He knew the right things to say and was charming and polite, but seemed a little out of place. It reminded Matthew of his first time to Downton, a lifetime ago, another life.

Sybie smiled at Nick's awkwardness, secretly cheering him on by nodding and engaging like he was already part of the fold.

What her mother would have done. It was like she was here in spirit. Matthew thought.

"You're an actor!" Mary said, surprised. "Anything I would know?"

"He's not been in any major, just in a few as an extra." Jo said modestly. "He prefers the stage." She was very interested in the subject. Mary was enthused and glad that she was showing interest in anything other than teaching. It seemed she hadn't been for ages. And who could blame her, with the war. It would help take her mind off her brothers. And if she was falling for Nick, she wouldn't have to worry about losing him.

"You put on shows for the soldiers rather than fighting for your own country?" Bertie asked.

The young man had an unpleasant look on his face, misunderstanding Bertie. "Acting might not seem very important but it boosts a soldiers moral, especially with all the ladies dressed up." he was a man that would stand up for his belief's and what was right.

"I'd imagine. " Mary smiled, trying to keep this dinner from getting anymore awkward. "We had a concert here for the soldiers during the first war. Edith would play the piano and I would sing."

"No wonder where she got her good singing voice."

Mary was grateful for the complement. "As I would like to take all the credit, she get's it from her dear papa." She glanced over to her darling husband who was having a conversation with their niece and oldest daughter. "I don't think she sang much since she's met you."

"She could have a career in it if she wants to."

"You know how I feel about that." Jo said it almost too softly, "with the drama with this family. And I wouldn't dream of giving up teaching."

"Acting is very important." Nick put more on his plate, thanking the footman. Sybie once again smiled, this time down on her plate. " I think of it as a form of art. And if art isn't an job then who designed your clothes, even your shoes. Your curtains and draperies. The layout and structure of your house. Art is in everything around us. All artists should be respected, no matter the craft."

"Here. Here." Matthew raised his glass.

"That was lovely put, Mr. Forsythe." Edith chimed.

"Call me Nick."

* * *

Josephine joined her father in the library after dinner. He had left the dinning room early. When she finished up, she wanted to speak with him.

"What's on your mind, my dear?" He asked her.

"What gave it away?"

"You're pacing."

She stopped. "He asked me to marry him. Do you think I should?"

"You should..." Her brows furrowed at his quick answer.

"You think it will protect me? Is that why you're only agreeing?" She was a little angry.

"You should marry him." He added calmly, to get her to listen. She had inherited her temper from her mother as well. He knew how to counteract it without getting caught in the crossfire. It had worked. She was calm now. He saw her relax as she sat at the edge of the desk. "If that's what you want." He continued. "I want what's best for you. If it would make you happy."

"Of course." Of course he wanted her to be happy more than anything. Marrying Nick came with a sacrifice. Her happiness in exchange for leaving him, her family behind. But how could she tell him? With him being ill? How would he take it? She decided the best way was to blurt it out. "He wants to move to America..." She straightened up when she heard the library door open.

"I thought I heard my ears burning." Nick walked in, smiling.

"I was just telling Papa about our plans about America." She turned back to her father. "He's thinking about going into script writing, maybe even directing. And I say all the New York plays are probably overly happy."

"We're going to need that, after the war."

Matthew nodded at that.

"He's in the process of writing one."

"Half of which she doesn't agree with."

He tries to listen but their voices are far away. He isn't being pulled into a war memory. His daughter was leaving. And he did not know when, if, he would see her again. Two of his children, not involved in this war, had their own lives now. Katie would still come home on leave to visit but it wouldn't be the same without all three of the girls. He had gotten used to the dynamic. Maybe a little too used to it. The boys, at least one of them would come home.

"I don't get your American humor. It's not you." There's a pause in between. "I still think it's far too cheery." Her voice was always like her mothers, if you imagined just right. It made Matthew smile brightly.

"You know of course us Americans are known for always having the good guy ride off into the sunset or they lived happily ever after."

She turns to her father once more. He's away. But he's not in a memory. She knows this upsets him. It wasn't just the idea that she'd be on the other side of the ocean. Travel would prove harder for him as he aged. But now he looked healthy. He could at least be able to make one trip, surely. And she would try visiting as much as she could. That is if she could actually do it. Leave all this behind, for a world that wasn't hers. It would be a fresh start. And she would be taking a trip there, to see if she liked it. Civilian travel wasn't allowed right now but she would be joining the SAG, a clever loophole Nick had come up with.

"You'll be moving there once you're married?" He asked Nick.

"We haven't decided, that is if she says yes. I'll be leaving in the morning for a show. A U.S.O for the wounded soldiers back home."

"Will you be visiting your parents as well while you're there?" Matthew asked. The lad must be eager to get home. What a strange place this must be for him, the world of aristocrats would be even more foreign, as foreshadowed at dinner. Jo would have a better life in America though he'd hate to see her go.

"No. I don't have any of those." Nick's tone went a bit cold.

"Sorry." He felt embarrassed from bringing it up. He should have asked about his life first.

"Nothing to be sorry about when you never had them."

"Nick wanted me to go with him." Jo cut in. She didn't want him to go into his whole life story. It would take all day. And it was a hard subject for him. Though he would be compelled to tell it because he saw it as rude if he was approached with it.

"Isn't civilian travel forbidden?" Matthew asked. Last time he checked it was. He gave Nick a stoic look. It was making him nervous. _Good._

"I won't be going as a civilian." She gave a quick glance at Nick, with a bright smile. "They'll let me travel if I say I was joining the actors guild but I'll be singing!" Papa gave her a curious and excited look. "I'll be taking one of the maids with me. And you don't need to worry. I'll be staying with Uncle Harold and Aunt Amy." Harold Levinson, her great-uncle was still alive and in his seventies and was married to a much younger woman over twice his junior. He had two sons from a previous marriage William, who was sixteen, Harry, fifteen. And with his new wife he had a son James, who was four. "If you'll let me."

"You should go."

"Really Papa?" Her face brightened.

"Have fun. And who knows, you could come to love it there. Think of it as an adventure." He wheeled his chair out of the room. He loved seeing his daughter happy. This might be the last time. The last time she saw him.

Nick frowned after him, "Is he alright?"

"He's been ill for a while but he's fine now."

"I mean he didn't sound too happy about letting you go."

"Haven't you heard, I'm a daddy's girl!"

"Don't you have like two sisters?"

"Like is pretty much accurate. Papa loves us all equally."

"You're lucky you have sisters and brothers. I have neither of those."

"You're lucky. You don't have brothers to go off and never return."

She didn't know that he knew on some level what that was like. At the orphanage, the boys he had come to known as brothers were always adopted out. He was always the one left behind.

"Was it the first war he was wounded?" He asked changing the subject.

"I think the term is partially paralyzed. My sister Kate is the nurse. She'd know more about that."

"It's a shame." Jo gave him an offended look. "I mean it's a shame what it did to men like him. What it will do to many others. It couldn't have always been easy on all of you."

"That's how I remember he's always been. He's papa. I used to be embarrassed but not anymore. War changed all that. I had to grow up. I had to set an example for the children." Off his confused look, she added, He used to come to the schoolhouse to visit me. A lot of the kids would ask him and their parents would get embarrassed. That wasn't the easiest at first."

For him or her? He dared not ask. Some things you didn't.

"Do you want me to pour you a drink?" He asked instead.

"Mhm...I'll just ring the bell."

* * *

The coughing had returned about a week ago. It would often keep him awake. He'd sleep in his dressing room not to disturb Mary but she could hear him through the walls. She had urged him to see a doctor and when he complained about it, refusing, she had made a house call.

Bronchitis. It was more common with patients with his type of spinal injury, especially now that he was older. Mary had addressed her fear of it turning into pneumonia. The doctor told her it wouldn't come to that as long as he took the antibiotics and had urged him to stop smoking.

Mary thought there must be a mistake. "My husband doesn't smoke. He used to but that was a very long time ago. He stopped when our youngest was born."

The doctor and Matthew exchanged looks.

"I've taken it up again." Matthew confessed.

"When?" Mary's question was almost a demand.

"Rather recently." He was being vague. Her eyes probed him for an acceptable answer. "Just a few times. It helps with the cough."

He went back to his old cigars as if to prove a point, the coughing had gone down, his airways sounded more clear.

She had noticed how out of breath and exhausted he was after climbing that stairs. She put it down to his old injury and old age. He'd nod off whilst reading. She'd take him in, how handsome he was. He probably still would be at ninety. She'd smile and take off his glasses that had gone askew and he'd be hunched over. That wouldn't be good for his posture. She'd kiss him awake. He'd still be exhausted and he'd go up to bed.

_Old age. He's slowing down. _She thought but a voice in the back of her mind had protested, _But he's only sixty!_

The coughing had gone away for awhile but now it was back.

"I don't like the sound of that coughing. It comes and goes. It never seems to go away. We should go to another doctor."

"It's not going to go away." It was an angry whisper. "And I already have." Then he says the word, the word that has the power to take the air out of the room. "I have cancer. It's in my lungs."

Mary freezes, saying nothing. She could feel a tear forming in the corner of her eye but miraculously it stayed there.

"You know my father had cancer. He was sixty-one. I'll be a year younger than he was when he died."

"You're not going to die. We can go to another doctor..."

"Yes and perhaps a third, and a forth!" He said snidely. "There's not going to be a different outcome." His voice was low now.

She was going to ask what he meant by that. Surely he wasn't just going to give up.

"There's treatments now." He said. "I was thinking of going in the morning. I don't want to tell the girls just yet." Mary nodded in agreement. "Let them have their fun. I'll tell them when I'm ready."

"I'll go with you tomorrow. We'll see what we can do."

He made a movement that could have been a nod and turned his gaze towards the window.

Later that week, Mary was delivering extra food for the soldiers in the village, one cold day at the end of February. Josephine had always been the one to do it so she thought she'd chip in. Jo wasn't back from America yet and wouldn't be for a while. Maybe not until the war ended. She'd be staying in Nick's flat above the theatre while he was touring. She had eloped with Nick, which Matthew had been rather sore about. She had discussed all this over the phone.

"We can have a party later. " Josephine insisted, "when you're feeling better." But there wasn't to be a party.

As Mary walked through the village, she saw a bus, pulling to a stop. She turned to look at it, out of habit. It would often drop of service men home on leave.

As the young soldiers got off, she found herself observing everyone. Would she remember what her sons looked like? Of course she would. But their physical appearances could have changed. What if she didn't recognise them? She mustn't get her hopes up, like those first few months, weeks, she and Matthew would wait for the bus after checking the war office. Still she waited till every soldier got off and the door closed. No George or Andy. That was that then.

She turned to go on her way when, she heard the hiss of the doors open again.

A young man, he looked more like a boy really in a way, had gotten off. The bag he was carrying was almost half his size but with his muscle strength from his training, he was able to balance it without falling over. It shielded his face for a moment. Then he turned. There was something familiar about him, the way the sunlight caught his hair. He was thinner and slightly dirty but...

"Andy?" She said it with relief. Then she felt stupid, as the soldier looked around, to try to find where the voice was coming from. His expression was one of confusion. Of course, it wasn't him. Now he'd find some mad old woman calling him someone else.

Then his eyes found her.

"Mum!"

There was no mistaking his voice.

He went to her, dropping his bag on the ground, throwing his arms around her. When they pulled apart Mary wore a look that said, you better explain yourself, Mister. "I meant to write. They wouldn't let us. We couldn't risk revealing where we were in case the Germans were to intercept. We were when we got lost. It took a few months to find us."

"That doesn't matter. Now you're here!" She pulled him into a hug again.

"Where's dad?"

Mary used the hug to hide her face, in order to compose it. "He's feeling rather achey to come down. You know how it is on him in cold weather."

Andy nods, "I hope he's not as angry with me as you were." He teased.

"There's something else..."

"Still no word from George. I know. He might still be alive. He might be in a prison camp, and he doesn't know who he is or he's too injured to write."

"Let's not talk of that now. Your father is waiting to see you."

Andy thought he would collapse if he wasn't in his chair. The look on his father's face was disbelief.

"Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming." Matthew finally said.

"Where would you like me to do that? Best in the leg so you can't feel it?" Andy made the mock gesture.

If this had been another point in time, Mary would have scolded her son.

He bent down next to his father, letting him put his arms around him. He was letting his father hug him.

"I missed you, son."

"I know. I know. Can't just be sentimental over me. Georgie will be alright."

Kate walked into the room, "well isn't that a sight, if I ever saw one."

Andy released his grip on his father at the sound of his older sisters' voice.

"My turn now." She went in to embrace him, but he shied away, "now you're being shy?"

Andy gave an exasperated sigh and hugged his sister, and then his mother again. She went over to Matthew filled with euphoria, watching the two of their children talk, not like old times because you'd rarely see them talking together, before the war. She put a hand on her husband's shoulder, bending down to kiss him, taking him by surprise. Matthew took her hand. In that blissful moment they forgot.

The Crawley's were reunited, not all of them, but they were there in spirit.

* * *

Andy didn't notice his father's failing health. When Matthew didn't come down to breakfast and Mary said he was having a lie-in, he didn't ask questions, he accepted it and when his father went to bed after dinner, he'd be out with friends or women or have friends in. He didn't notice his father's appetite, he'd always have an impeccable one, that'd he hardly touched his food and was losing weight. Everyone assumed it was the rationing. Andy, a robust young man, illness was far from his mind.

On Andy's last day home on leave, Matthew did not get up at all, not even for luncheon.

"Where's dad?"

"He's been in bed all day." It was the radiation. It knocked him flat. Once, quite literally. After the first treatment, about a half hour after they'd gotten home, when he'd gotten up from his wheelchair, he collapsed. She had thought it was his legs at first. He told her it was the radiation. The doctor had told them the side effects, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, fatigue. She didn't want to think of the worst ones. She had offered to help him into bed but he wanted to stay in his chair for a while. Today however, he had wanted to stay in bed.

"Is he ill?"

"It's the bronchitis. It's bad today. He breaths more easily when he's in bed." Mary said with a callousness, as not to alert Andy or the girls.

"I'll go see him after luncheon."

"No, you won't. He's sleeping."

"If it isn't that bad..."

"Leave you're poor papa alone. He needs his sleep. You can see him when you're off in the morning."

Mary sent a telegram to Caroline. She needed to come home. It had nearly stopped her heart. She thought it was news on one of her brothers at first. But the news seemed more daunting, encompassing the news that at least one of them was out of harms way for the moment.

_No word on George STOP Andy home safe. STOP Soon due back. STOP__ Papa is unwell. STOP He will understand and not judge you. STOP He loves you no matter what. STOP Please come home. STOP_

* * *

Kate, unable to sleep, decided to walk the labyrinth of corridors as she often did as a child to make herself tired. Her mother had used to the same method to lull Andy to sleep. Or she could use her father's method, a hot drink. Maybe if she went down to the kitchen she could still reach Mac in time. She was about to turn in the direction of the stairs when she suddenly thought better of it, heading back down the hall. It was as if something was pulling her. She came to a stop at her father's dressing room. She could hear him coughing and retching. Without thinking, she went into the room, into the bathroom, without knocking.

Papa was horribly sick. He was bent over the toilet, throwing up. He tried reaching for the toilet paper with a shaky hand, trying to shoot himself closer to the holder.

"Here, let me help." She pulled several pieces off the roll, wiping the sick from the corner of his mouth.

He let out a chuckle as she did so, recalling when Mary had done the same.

"What it is Papa?"

"You're not going to nurse me."

"I want to. You're sick papa. Let me help you get back to bed, to your bedroom with Mama. I'll get a sick bucket for you."

"I don't want to wake up your mother."

"Does she know?"

He nodded but it seemed to make him dizzy. She put a hand on his arm to steady him.

"Please, tell me what it is Papa. I can help."

He shrugged at his shirt, pulling at it, weakly. She wondered if it had been intentional.

She gasps. She cannot help it. There's no mistaking it. "Radiation burns."

"I've just started..." He leans over the toilet again. When he stops, he's exhausted, resting his one side of his face against the cold seat. Turned away from her, hiding his agony. "You can't help me."

"You can fight this Papa." He lifts his head. "You've been through so much. You'll make it through this. You're a fighter."

"I've done my fighting!" He shouts. Flashes of his own war flash through his mind, gunfire and explosions, flickering in the dark. It seems his whole life he's been fighting. Outliving all his siblings had been a battle he unknowingly had fought, making it through childhood to adulthood. The battle of reconciling and bonding with his mother, that had healed and strengthened ten years before her death. Him and Mary battling over their feelings till they had finally found each other. The battle of survival in war, in the trenches. The battle in his mind he had fought for twenty years. How was he supposed to fight this? He survived all of that to die like this? It wasn't fair to his children, the grandchildren he'll never meet. He had to see them safe, make sure that they were provided for. His boys, he had to see them both safe._ Damn this war._ They might never have a chance to say goodbye. He might never get to see them before, his first born son.

The memory and feeling of holding him for the first time and wondering how something so small could come with so much joy. The memory of war started to creep back into his vision. He thought of the dream he had when George had gone missing, feeling what he had been feeling, lost and in pain. He tried to bring back the imagine of that hospital room, the day Mary had given birth, picturing his young self holding George, a young Mary smiling up at the both of them, beaming with the pride at the promises that came with motherhood. An awaited blessing they hadn't thought possible to them. If he could only hold onto that moment. He could not, would not imagine that same precious boy being blown to smithereens, without a grave, either of them. His boys. Andy was still safe for now from the last he heard of.

He had to know what happened to George but if that was not to be, if it was God's will, his time..._Please let my son come home to me, or we be reunited in heaven._

Red tinted at the edge of his vision, to almost dark as the memories of the battlefield and the trenches and exploding shells threatened to replace it.

Kate desperately tried to calm him. "Shh, it's alright." She briefly sees his gaze. He's on the verge of going back there, where he hasn't been for years, since Beth. She had seen it before in a few patients. Seeing it in him was different altogether. His body continues to shake. She hushes him, fearing it will wake Mama. _She mustn't see him like this. _

"I'll wait...I'll wait till the boys come ho...home."

She realises what he is saying. He'd wait to die until he knows his boys are safe.

"No. You will fight this."

"I can't do this. I can't..." She never saw her father break down before. "do this. I'm in so much pa...pain. It's worse."

"The first few times will be the worst. Your body needs to get used to the radiation." That wasn't the whole truth._ The hardest is when it comes back and you have to do it all over again._ She knows the chance of him beating it a second time would be slim.

He is partially leaning against her, his head resting against her shoulder. The sweat almost soaks through.

"Now, let's figure a way to get you off the floor." He nods against her. "I'll go get someone. Here, rest against the toilet for now." She helped position him so that he wouldn't fall over. " I'll be right back."

As she got up he weakly grabbed her hand.

"No! No." He moans the last no. From the pain or the confusion caused by the radiation? It could be the shell shock or a combination of all three.

"I'm coming right back. I promise Papa. I'll be right back."

The bright light suddenly came on. Kate turned to see her mother standing in the doorway.

She rushed over to her husband the soon as the sight of him. "What's happened?" Before Kate can answer, her mother is kneeling on the floor next to him, supporting him.

"He's having an episode I think or it's the radiation. It's hard to tell." Kate's words came out in a rush

He could barley remain sitting up and was semi-conscious due to the pain. So Mary knew an episode wasn't the case. Though he could of had one moments before. She brushed his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. He seemed to be sweating buckets. Was this normal? She had to contact the doctor in the morning. _Dear God, let this be normal. _First they needed to get him to bed.

"Go wake Morrison." There was no way she and Kate could lift him by themselves. The butler would be a little cranky, he was when he had little sleep. A trait he shared in common with Carson. Rest his soul. The soul she was more concerned about now was right in front of her. She wished she could heal it. Instead she could only comfort him, the way that only she knew how. Her middle daughter hesitated in the doorway. Mary gave her a nod, gesturing that she had things under control even though she really didn't. "I'll stay with him now."

It was only then she hurried from the room.

Mary stayed with him in the dressing room. She had cold compresses brought up to keep him cool and to reduce the sweating. Every know and then she would check on his breathing to make sure there wasn't any sudden changes. It remained consistent.

When he awoke the next morning his whole body was tense and stiff. She handed him some pain medication. He didn't refuse. Once it's effect brought him into a blissful rest she went downstairs to telephone the doctor.

The doctor said that it was normal. The side effects of the radiation would reduce once his body got used to it. After he left, Matthew was still asleep. She let him rest through half the day.

The second time he woke the medication was starting to wear off. He was staring up at the ceiling, a confused expression in his eyes, as if he was perplexed that he was still alive. Or had no memory of what had transpired last night.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Mmmm."

"I have some good news that'll cheer you up. Josephine's just arrived! Nick had one more tour in London and managed to bring her."

"That's wonderful! She can tell us all about her fanciful life in America." He teased the last bit. That had seemed to do the trick. He was happier. Elated even that 'daddy's girl" was home.

* * *

Later that night he told her, "I think the girls should know." His voice was almost distant and still a bit weak. "After dinner." It would spoil their pudding but they can have pudding any other night. Not that there is much option anyway since the rationing. "Only... I want to be the one to tell them."

Mary asked if he was sure.

"It's time. Since Kate already knows."

She went to go get them, coming through to the drawing room. "It's time to go in now. Papa has something he wants to discuss with you."

She smoothed her skirt, smiling as her daughters walked in. Carrie, a ray of sunshine, almost disappearing behind her growing abdomen. The baby was due in July. Matthew had been abundant with joy, forgetting for at least for a while that he was terminally ill.

"As you probably know I've been sick for a while now."

"Is it TB?" Josephine asked. She was looking a bit unwell herself. She had already missed her monthlies a few times, so she was sure, but didn't want to tell anyone. Not yet with this dire news. She knows it would.

"No. I don't have TB." He blinked slowly like a trusting cat.

"Didn't Mama say it was bronchitis?" Carrie had a look of worry that she or the baby might catch it. Not a worry that it meant something serious to her father, and could be fatal even in particle paralytics, because it could lead to pneumonia, which often killed para...someone like her father.

"We thought it was..." Mary began but was cut off, Matthew squeezing her hand.

"It's cancer. I have cancer." Why was he laughing?

"What? No." Carrie almost made a wailing sound.

"I've been getting treatment." The room was silent for a few seconds. "If I don't win this..."

"No." Carrie said again, "I know you will, Papa..."

He put up his hand to silence her, "If I don't...I don't know how long I'll have my faculties." They had been told that with lung cancer it could easily spread to the brain or he'd be in too much pain and delirious. "and I want you all to get along. I don't want you to say anything that you'll regret. Be nice to each other."

"Yes, Papa." Caroline and Kate said in unison.

Then Josephine a bit softly, with her head down, "yes, Papa."

When they went up to bed Mary asked, "When are we going to inform Andy? I could write..."

"No. He's on the other side of the world, fighting for his life right now. He doesn't need to be bothered with this. He needs to focus on surviving."

_So do you, _was her silent prayer.

* * *

April 1945, Hitler was dead, a victory. It wasn't that way for Matthew. His son was still missing. The death of the evil dictator won't bring him, back, bring any of them back. That should have been the end. But the war still seemed to rage on. It finally came to an end in May.

Two days before Matthew's birthday, 8 May, 1945, Winston Churchill announced Germany's unconditional surrender in a radio broadcast. There was still no word about George. Mary urged him that once things settled, once everyone had their fun, they would hear from the war office. The whole village was celebrating, even the girls were smiling and laughing. It's _as if they'd forgotten about their brother_, Matthew thought.

Mary saw his gaze, directed at the children. She could tell he was upset.

'Let them. We will try the war office again." But months went by, and still nothing. The others seemed to be moving on with their lives, starting to accept it. But he never would. He would never believe that his son was dead. They would of felt it. Even if they'd given up, he'd never stop looking.

"He's lying in a hospital somewhere, injured. His name doesn't appear on any list because no one put it down. That's all. He doesn't have his identification. An administrative error." Mary put a hand on his shoulder, her mouth in a grim line.

Carrie felt she needed to speak. "But if he was in hospital somewhere, we'd have heard by now." And then with hesitance, "He'd have written us."

"He might be too ill to send word." Kate said, but the possibilities are often..."

Matthew interrupted, continuing, "There could be any number of reasons we haven't heard, as I've said. Perhaps he's unable to talk or lost his memory." They continue to look at him as if he had lost it or with sadness. _They all think I'm grasping at straws. _Why couldn't they just stop? It's like they wanted him to be dead. _No. They just don't want to get their hopes up, if they thought there wasn't a possibility, it'd be easier._ He tried to keep his cool but it felt like everyone else was against him.

"Darling..." Mary squeezed his shoulder. She didn't want him to work himself up. Trying to calm him but it only seemed to make it worse.

_How could you wish that? Your first son. Our first born. His own mother, that gave him life, and you, his own sisters. _He was sure if Andy was here he'd help talk sense into them. He'd side with him. But he was alone in this. "If he was dead I would have felt it! Have all of you just given up?!" His voice was on the verge of a shout. "I most certainty haven't!"

"We haven't given up, papa." Katie said to him. "We just have to start thinking...that he may never be found. Jack's..."

But he wouldn't listen to it.

"I think I'll be off to bed." He wheeled out of the room.

The outburst had been so unlike him that no one spoke for a few moments.

"He's upset." Kate said.

"We all are." Josephine responded with insight. She didn't know what to think, whether it was worse to hope or not hope. How bad must it be if he was alive and was unable to talk? And if he was dead, how had he died? Would she always ask herself these questions? She had always imagined their children growing up together, not being far apart in age, as they had been. George had essentially been a twin to her. Without him she felt a part of her was gone. But did that mean he was really dead? She would have been able to feel it too wouldn't she have?

"Should someone go after him?" Carrie asked.

"I should go." Kate made to lay aside her knitting. She was making booties for Carrie's baby. She felt that she was the one that had escalated the situation.

"No, no. Don't disturb yourself." Their mother said. "I'll go. It's about time I turn in as well. Goodnight, girls."

He went to up to his dressing room. They had no idea what this would mean. He couldn't see Andy taking up the mantel (although he had showed potential.) Of course all that didn't matter to him. It would still have an impact. He had to stay alive for as long as he could, to get the affairs in order, just in case. But first things first was make as many inquires as he could. He had written a letter to his niece as she would have the connections to many hospitals.

He sat at his desk and took out the post from one of the cubby holes. Morrison had brought it to him earlier in the day. He had tucked Sybie's response safely away.

He poured himself a glass of cognac before opening the envelope.

Sybie had responded, _"I don't know if he could be alive. If it is likely. But I think to myself, what if it was me? If I was alive and everyone had given up on me." _She had also written that she would help with the letters to hospitals and telephone calls. It gave him more confidence to hope.

Mary found him in his dressing room as she had expected. He wouldn't be coming to bed tonight, no doubt he'd be unable to sleep. He was at his desk with a glass poured.

"I'm sorry. I didn't meant to...upset anyone." He said, turning his chair to face her. "But I can't stand the way everyone is willing to write him off."

"It's not that we're willing..."

"Only it'll be easier." He tried to smile but it faltered. "You don't believe he's dead?" He stared at her urgently, as much as she loved him, she couldn't lie to him, so she said nothing. "I remember you see," his voice trembled a little, when he was a small lad, when he first came to me. How he'd sit on my knee and chatter...he looked at me and saw his dad." He didn't see the wheelchair, he had seen a loving father. "He trusted me. I can't let him down now."

"I know." She said, her voice soft, sounded far too loud in the big room. "but I can't help thinking, if he was alive, we'd have heard something."

He turned his head away, his eyes glistening, it felt as if someone was slowly squeezing his heart, as he teetered on the edge of almost believing it, almost accepting it himself, that his son was dead. But there was no proof. No body. No casket. No gravestone. Like so many others. There would be many families like theirs. Never knowing. He still had to hold on to that little shred of hope, that he could be alive. Just as Mary had to hold onto the possibility that he wasn't, to cope, to prepare. He couldn't fault her for it, either of them. In truth, nothing prepares you.

He didn't want her to see his agony, yet they should share their grief. They could possibly have lost another child. But this was different. This one had lived, one who had been so full of life, his whole life ahead of him. He had to believe.

"We'll make it through." She sounded confident as ever, not letting her real emotions get through. "Like we promised. Like we always have. There will be a lot of big changes..."

He hung his head down. She heard the low sobs. Rushing over, she tried to get him to look at her. He shook his head, trying to refuse her. She lifted up his head. Her hands becoming wet with his tears. "I can't make myself believe that he's gone. It can't be true."

"We have to accept that it might be." Her own voice shook, tears springing to her eyes. She was more worried for him. He would chase 'loose ends' that weren't there, chasing a ghost till he took his last breath. And that very well could be soon. But there was a chance for him to fight this. She wanted him to take it. "I don't want this to consume you, consume us. Please, don't give up." _ Don't let this make you give up on yourself. _

"You know me. I never do." He flashed her his winning Matthew Crawley smile. They both held each other and cried.


	11. The Things They Carried Part 2

The Things They Carried: Part 2

He had always used a wheelchair or a cane for as long as they could remember. He'd always been like that since before they were born. Sometimes they wished they had known what he was like before. Their Mama said he was still a good man.

_He's strong, kind, and always puts himself before others._ He was still their father. He's not different from anyone else. She had told them time and time again, till they were old enough to understand.

_He hurt his back and it makes his legs not work right sometimes. _

When they were very small children, they loved spending time with him, wanting a ride or to sit on his lap, well the girls would. They boys would try to push the chair around, pretending it was a car, especially when he was in it. Mary didn't approve of their little game, but Matthew told her it was alright. He was amused by it. It would help them see that there was nothing wrong or scary about a wheelchair.

Kate would climb up on his lap and curl up and fall asleep. He'd close his eyes and focus on the warmth of her breath on his next. He could feel the pressure of her body where she lay on his legs. Sybie and Caroline liked to sit on his lap and be wheeled around.

Three year-old George would sit in the wheelchair, pushing himself around the house.

_ Matthew_

He was becoming a good driver, crashing into walls and furniture less and less. As I got as comfortable as I could on the sofa, George asked me from across the room, to help him reach his truck that fell off his lap onto the floor and rolled under the settee. I told him if he wanted help, he'd have to bring him me chair, "I'll use my stick to get it."

"Daddy, just walk," he replied. When I told him he couldn't, he encouragingly replied, "Try harder!"

I chuckled and explained that I already tried hard. "My legs are tired."

"How can your legs be tired?"

"When you walk for a long time, your legs can get really tired. Come, bring the chair over. It's harder to bend down when I'm standing."

He got quiet, wheeled toward me, and asked, "Why?"

He hesitated.

Even though I had answered this question a hundred times to strangers explaining to my child felt different. My instinct told me to be straightforward as I could, so I told him that I had been in an accident and hurt my back. "Because my legs don't work like they should all the time, I use a wheelchair."

He had a lot of follow-up questions, so I threw in some details, like I had been taken to the hospital in a special military ambulance, which he thought was cool. Content, he climbed down from the chair, pushed it to me. As I got into it, George watched with amazement,

"Wow, your arms are very strong."

I smiled as this interaction warmed my heart, "I have to use them more than my legs." I grabbed my stick that was resting against the sofa, lied it across my lap and wheeled over to the settee. I slid the stick under it, sweeping back and forth but it was too short to reach. George's arms were too short too when he tried, and it was too low for him to crawl under.

He surprised me yet again with his empathetic nature, "That's alright, daddy. Let's play blocks. We can sit at the table and stack them."

I thought about our interaction for days. George has only ever known me to use a wheelchair, and Josephine but she's never asked, it's their norm. When he comes in our room in the morning to wake me up, he doesn't say_, "Daddy, get up." He says, "Daddy, get in your chair." _But now that he's getting older, he's starting to understand what a wheelchair means_._

* * *

It had been easier with the children, even Sybie, but with Jay it had been difficult. They had never been explained it to him. They had all thought Edith and Bertie would.

One day he had asked his parents about it, after he had seen his Uncle on one of his worst days, when his legs were uncomfortably stiff and awkwardly bent. He had been lied up in bed. Jay had looked utterly intrigued and horrified.

He had asked, "Uncle Matthew, what's wrong with your legs?"

The explanations he used with his children hadn't worked with Jay. And for a while Jay had been hesitant to approach him.

Eight year old Jay was sitting down to tea with his parents when he asked, "Was Uncle Matthew always a cripple?"

The room went silence. Edith just sat, with her lips pressed together.

"Don't you ever use that word." His father's tone had a sharp edge to it.

"Isn't that what they're called?"

"Yes. But it isn't nice. And he wasn't always like that. He was injured in the war. It isn't his fault. Don't listen to those no good classmates of yours."

Jay stormed off.

"Bertie..." Edith came over to put her hands on his shoulders to try to calm him.

"I'm just so angry. That our son can think that way."

"We don't know what he's thinking. We never explained it to him."

"I should have. I should have talked to Matthew about it, so I could. How he felt, even though I saw the struggle in his eyes. I wanted to ask how I could help, then they lost their child and he found the strength to take charge of everything."

No one knew that he really hadn't. She had seen him fall apart, only once, after the funeral luncheon.

She was going round, saying goodbyes. She went off to find him. Aunt Rosamund said he went off to the library. And sure enough, there he was sitting alone. She told him that they were heading off, when suddenly he broke down. She pulled him into her arms and he cried against her for several minutes. He had not been able to do that before, worrying that once he started crying he would never be able to stop. She let him talk, because of course she couldn't say anything, and held him until he was ready to let go.

He withdrew from her embrace and thanked her after and said "I needed that."

After that his main focus had become the children, including spending time with Sybie. He considered her like a daughter and he doesn't feel completely overwhelmed by sadness anymore.

Edith and Bertie and Jay don't see much of the family a lot, since the war started, but every time they do Matthew always receives a hug from her. He has been able to work through most of the grief thanks to family and friends and to his wife, but it will never go away entirely. It was still hard especially on his and Andy's birthday. It was still so desperately sad. And now with George being at risk of danger...to lose one child, and face the possibility of losing another...she felt guilty for ever being thankful that Jay had been born years too late for the war to claim him.

"I'll go talk to him." Bertie got up and headed upstairs.

Their son was sitting on his bed, with a book. He was only pretending to read, pouting.

"I suppose you know why I'm up here?"

"Why do people say mean things about people like Uncle Matthew?"

Bertie, taken aback, slowly sat down on the bed.

"There are many reasons. Ignorance combined with insecurities. Power. Everything is about power in life. People like to have power. Like to think they are better than others in all ways. Many people abuse the power they have over others, they don't have a courage to confront those stronger than themselves but they look for the weak to bully. It is the bullies who are the true weak ones, the real cowards. You understand now?"

"Yes, sir."

The next time he was home for the summer, he apoligised to his Uncle. "I'm sorry I called you a cripple, Uncle Matthew."

"When did you call me that?"

"When I asked Mum and Dad about it."

Mary saw Matthew and Jay interacting. It had always been hard to get Jay to. She saw the same confidence in her husband that she seen when he had accepted that he could still be a father, despite some of his limitations.

_Mary_

He had been afraid of being alone with with his son at first. There was lots of mummy-baby bonding time with dad left on the sidelines providing mummy support when needed.

Being on the sidelines was difficult for him at first, especially as he watched my father or his mother dive right in and help. Matthew had made the conscious decision to be grateful for the help and reassured himself that his time for father-son bonding would come.

It happened slowly, but it did happen. Our newborn became a toddler who would ride in his papa's wheelchair when it was not in use. When he became bit older, he grew to be an empathetic, sensitive boy who one day said,

"Dad, I'm sorry you can't always walk to play with me for long. I wish you could." It was reinforced that it was nothing to be sorry for and encouraged to keep talking about it if he wanted to. He doesn't. Having a father in a wheelchair is something he's always known, so maybe for him, there's really not that much to discuss.

I had been afraid that our children would disobey or not see him as an authority figure.

Jo and her sisters would play with their dolls of the landing of the stairs. I would often have to scold them, "papa could trip over them." He had difficulty with obstacles, mostly why he needed the wheelchair when he went out, apart from his legs getting exhausted if he stood or walked too long. It would be that way for ever. They never seemed to listen to pick up their toys.

"We have to be open and honest about parenting and discipline. We have to be a team more than ever." He had told me.

When ever the children would have their toys strewn about the nursery and Matthew wheeled himself in or walked in, George would move them out of the way, any potential hazard that he could trip or wheel over. With one sweep of his arm he'd clear a path, "Hurricane, coming through or Grr, I'm a hurricane!" One of the girls would cry or protest.

"Hurricane's don't make a noise." Josephine always boasting that she knew better than George, but as they would grow older they would forge an inseparable bond, that I had somewhat envied and not quite accomplished with my own sisters. Not even Sybil who was now four years gone. They were basically joined at the hip, like twins, being only thirteen months apart. "Your father couldn't keep his hands off me." I would say, when they were old enough of course.

"Mama." Josephine had said shocked, a bit flushed with embarrassment.

Our eldest daughter, several positive aspects of her attitude and development to her father's disability, helped the others develop deeper emotional intelligence and maturity. Though at times she was so much like me, that I didn't know how to handle her.

"My husband has a lot of patience with Jo, certainly more patience than I do." I would often say to people. He is the parent who most often will get her to slow down and focus just by using his words.

* * *

_Josephine _

My father is an extremely well connected lawyer and political figure in the county. There is few people he doesn't know or have a connection to.

One of his most admirable traits is his integrity. He is a man of his word, no amount of power or money could ever convince him to lie to someone. He is incredibly generous and devoted to helping everyone he can. He has helped numerous people get justice when faced with threat of losing their properties.

He takes care of his family, close and extended.

But if I was asked how I had thought of him as a little girl?

Even though I loved Papa very much, I had secretly resentment that he couldn't get down on the floor and play with us or go outside with us in the snow. We all did. But he was still our Papa, Mama would ensure time and time again. _Think of the things he can do._

I had liked to walk with him in the garden to the bench and back, but that was how far he could walk, before becoming exhausted. He'd watch me run around the grounds for a while, before he had enough energy to walk back to the house. I had wished he could pick me up and swing me around like I had seen many daddies do, but I was too heavy and he wouldn't have the balance. Instead I'd grab hold of his arms and he'd swing me back and forth. I imagined that we were dancing, and sometimes, that was enough.

I often looked past his injury, the older we got, we only saw our Papa.

One of the things that we vividly remember are the bedtime stories that he'd used to read. He would pick stories from the mythological epics and being the amazing narrator that he is, (he could do many voices in different accents, even children's voices) he would captivate and intrigue our young minds. We enjoyed those stories.

When I had refused to sleep, I was still very small, he would gather me on his lap and wheel me round until I fell asleep, even though he was exhausted by the day's work or from numerous trips and outings where he would again put me on his lap, when I couldn't walk for long distances. I had a sense of what it was like for him. Often I'd pretended to sleep in the car when returning from dinner parties so he could wheel me inside on his lap.

He didn't talk much when he was around a lot of people, in some of my earliest memories of him. He came off a bit prickly to them.

To me, however, he was different. He was the doting father who always spoiled me by buying things that Mama refused. That fancy pencil box that wasn't so practical, that doll house that was way too expensive (I would have to share it with my sisters. Except my special pencil box. He later got me, what I had referred to as, a special pen when I was eight. I remember being the happiest that my special pen now had a special place) we were running tight on money because of the 'depression' in America. We always seemed to have more than enough to get by.

I was his little girl who could lighten his face and break his frown into a smile. If he had to be convinced about something I was the one to bring it up. He couldn't help but enjoy my bold witty replies and retold those stories with pride. Now when I tried, it was hard to get him to since he announced his illness. He seemed a shell of himself, a husk and it was frightening to witness, watching him disappear on the surface. I summoned from the depths of my mind the man he was when we were children, when he was young and healthy. That's how I wanted to remember him.

I thought about when I was five. About eight or nine p.m. when I was supposed to be in bed, (Katie would often have trouble sleeping too, but really wanted to listen to the radio) Papa would be up, sitting on the sofa listening to the news. I'd sit next to him and Kate (about two years old) would pull herself up by grabbing his hands, standing on his feet, he would sway her back and forth and she would giggle.

I thought of my and George's first day of school. How Papa had bribed George with chocolates to get him to go. It was hilarious watching the chauffeur, diving in and out of the shops.

* * *

It was George and Jo's first day of school. They had been tutored at home from three years old, but Papa had thought it important that they be taught alongside the children from the village. Jo was all for learning new things and was more than ecstatic to go, George on the other hand hadn't wanted to go, claiming he had a stomach ache, it was no fair that Katie didn't have to go. He would often ride with them to school or to pick them up, unable to drive.

One thing he didn't miss as much as he did riding a bike. That was one of the many things he regretted not being able to do with his children, teach them to ride a bike. Mary was teaching them to ride horses instead. They had been discussing getting Kate a pony for her fourth birthday. Mary would be the one to teach them to drive and Tom. Tom would teach us, even the girls, the names of every part, how to fix it and change a flat. That shouldn't bother him as much but it does.

They drove around the village. Got chocolates, several kinds. George almost forgot that they were to go to school. And then they were pulling up, right in front of the school. They had been tricked.

But then George was too happy and he and Jo sung all the way to the school house.

_1929_

Josephine was waiting outside the schoolhouse, waiting for the chauffeur to come pick her up. She had come back from a school trip with her class. She hoped to be a teacher someday, maybe plan their own trips.

She climbed in the back seat of the car, immediately taking out a book.

"So my little bookworm, what did you learn today?" Her father turned his head to her.

"We collected leaves and fireflies. Did you know baneberries will make you have a heart attack and monkshood causes respiratory failure due to paralyze of the lungs. Kind of how you have with your legs sometimes."

"You learned all that? That's great! Finally a teacher that actually teaches you something."

"Why don't we ever go camping? It's so much fun!" Then her voice quieted. He'd have difficulty getting off the ground, the muddy and uneven patches would be hard for his wheelchair. Why did she sometimes forget that he was disabled?

"I spent enough time sleeping on the ground in the war. I promised myself that if I made it home alive, I'd never sleep on the ground again. That's why I won't take you camping."

In high school history class, she and George learned about the first Great War and were to do a report. Around the same time, there were a lot of movies in the cinema that romanticized it and the injuries the soldiers came home with. Papa would sometimes point out the inaccuracies.

He told her about how he'd had very little training, moved through the ranks quickly because so many others were dying in combat. He never wanted to lead a squad of soldiers.

In fact, he naively believed the news of the day and thought the war would be over by the time he finished non-commissioned officer training. Instead, he found himself shipped to France, not just as a soldier, but as a sergeant, Lieutenant, then finally Captain. He never gone in to much detail and wouldn't talk about it at all when Mama was present.

Mama had explained to them what war was when they were little, in the best way she could. Kate had been still too young to understand. It was May 1927. Papa had been ill for a few days. Josephine remembered it while the others didn't. At the dining table one evening, after everyone else was finished, Papa had still remained. Josephine had been hiding under the table from her siblings. They were being annoying. She had enjoyed listening to the adults conversations and had wished to be a part of them. This was the only way she could be involved. It was quiet now and she was getting bored. Then she noticed her papa's shoes. She wanted to surprise him. She tapped his shoe with a fork that had fallen. He hadn't responded.

_He can't feel it._ She remembered.

She climbed between the table and his legs. She looked straight into his eyes, smiling. "Papa!" She made a jumping motion, shouting his name with much surprise as she could. It didn't startle him. He just sat there. She was still smiling, until she noticed something. Her smile fell. There was something wrong with his eyes. There was no spark in his eyes that'd she always known to be there. It was like he was asleep but his eyes were open. Daydreaming, the tutor accused Kate of, Josephine had always defended her sister, not in front of her sister of course. Maybe if she said his name again, he would wake up.

"Papa?"

He didn't.

"Papa." She put her hands to his face, and said his name again. That simply seemed to do the trick. He slowly began to wake again.

Then came Andy's and Papa's birthday. Papa had barely spoken at all but he had engaged. The children were preoccupied with the pony, Rose had gone on with renting. Papa smiled and laughing as they climbed over it and argued who's turn it was. Katie was trying to get one year old Andy to go over to pony but once he saw it, he started bawling. Papa wheeled over to him, picking him up and placing him on his lap. Andy immediately stopped, his fist in his mouth, staring up at him. He pulled himself up, bouncing up and down on his legs. Papa was looking past Andy, looking somewhere else. She thought of that blank stare and shivered, any onlookers would think it was the slight breeze in the air.

Is Papa alright?" Jo asked her mother.

"He's sad about your baby sister. It brought his memories of the war back. He was so sad it made him a bit ill."

Josephine nodded as if she understood. She didn't. She was six. She tried to get on the same level with adults so that she wouldn't be treated like a child. Her Papa didn't. He had encouraged them to ask questions, and teacher says that to, so they could learn things. Maybe if she asked she'd understand Papa. "What does that have to do with the war?"

"He lost a lot of people. They were hurt and didn't come home." She quieted as Papa wheeled over to them. "Aw, darling, there you are."

It was never brought up again.

He's back to his old self in no time. He had the closest bond with all his children, especially Andy, he seemed more worried about. His sometimes rather careless behavior, he wasn't taught it and they wondered where it had come from. It was rather careless for him to lie and join up His father hadn't been too angry as his mother, but he accepted his decision and understood. What they feared the most was his nature. He acted on impulse. He'd immediately realise his mistake and go back on it but out there you couldn't take it back. It was something that surely would get him killed. Maybe in the first few weeks or months. It had been Matthew's worst fear. George would be alright, he could take care of himself, but Andy...When he gone missing in December, he had thought the worst. He was dead and they'd never know. Miraculously he survived. Made it home in one piece. But soon he would be back in the midst of danger again.

* * *

_Andy_

Being back home brought back fond memories of my childhood. I hadn't been back in ages, it seemed. Two months was still a long time to them. Everything was so fast pace back there in France, it was here too but then it slowed to a crawl. I couldn't wait to go back. But I'd take in the time I had with my parents, who knew when I'd see them again, recalling old stories and memories.

I remember how I used to swing on father's arms. How we used to play cricket. He'd toss me the ball from his chair. He was bad at it but Mama said he used to be good and would win, to which he replied, he was a champion during his school days. This had clearly surprised her. Of the many things he never talked about the war or his own father, this was also one of them. She knows it must have been lonely, his time at Eaton. We'd also play badminton and chess. He never failed to impress me with his in depth knowledge of everything in this world. You'd ask him about anything and he will answer it. I feel proud to be his son.

I had never seen the day that words failed him. He was speechless when I had came home, two months after being declared missing in action.

One day in May of 1945, it was before dinner, father seemed not able to get around the right words, like a train being stuck on a track. He'd stop and let someone who had been speaking before him to carry on. He did this many times. Mother would subconsciously clench her jaw as she chewed each time it happened. I had just thought it was the food, which had not been sub-par since the rationing.

Afterwards, Uncle Bertie was standing next to father, with an acquaintance of theirs Sir Hugh Stanhill, talking to him about something. Sir Stanhill called him Lord Grantham.

To which my father immediately replied, in a correcting manner, "I'm not Lord Grantham. Robert is."

Mother's face went grave. I caught dad's expression. He was very stressed and confused. I realised that something wasn't right. _He's about to_ collapse. I thought.

"Andy, get your father's chair." Before she had even said the words I had retrieved it and dad almost sort of fell backward but Uncle Bertie and Kate grabbed hold of him and lowered him backward into it. As Kate and I got him upstairs with the help of Mr. Morrison, the butler, and another footman, _thank God it isn't Billy, that useless lump,_ I can hear mother say,

"I'm sorry, Sir Stanhill. My husband hasn't been feeling well."

"Please call me Hugh. I still consider you almost family after all. Let me know if there's anything I can do."

* * *

_Kate_

I wanted to do anything I could for Papa. Josephine and Carrie were utterly useless in this situation. Carrie was letting her emotions get the best of her. She had always been more sensitive to things especially when it came to Papa. She had always had a fear of him dying, since I could remember. She loves him deeply, we all do. And it breaks my heart to see the effects this has had on her. I didn't like to see her youngest sister in pain.

I remember Papa picking Carrie up from the cement curb. She had fell against the curb, knocking a tooth through her lower lip at the age of one. He picked her up and placed her in his lap and I wheeled them as fast as I could and brought them to Mama and Grandmother Isobel. I think that is when I truly had decided to be a nurse. I'm not entirely sure.

She still had a small, almost invisible scar on her lower lip that ran slightly above her upper lip that she was sometimes self conscious about. Papa had faint scars on his face from his war injury, where debris had cut him. "You don't really have it that bad."

She was still a baby about to have a baby. I'm just angry that I'm never going to have Jack's or anyone's. There wasn't even a man.

I shouldn't think of that now. I know Papa is doing better. The side effects were from the end of his treatments. The cancer was virtually gone but we still had to watch for it.

* * *

_Carrie_

I felt like I was going to fall apart at the sight of Papa's near collapse. That could mean things could take a turn for the worst. But I couldn't fall apart. I had to pull herself together. It showed though.

Every moment with Papa was always special to me growing up. I'm only eighteen but often treated as the baby or annoying kid sister by my older siblings.

I had learned and knew a lot of things. I'm having a baby, after all. It's hard to believe. A war time baby! A welcome presence amongst this gloom and doom. It will cheer up Papa. I know he wouldn't think any less of me for it. Mama hadn't need remind me. She wanted me to come home immediately and that he was ill. I had hoped it wasn't too serious. Mama sounded worried in her letter. I don't know what I would have done if it was. I'd spent as much time with him as possible. Growing up with a father like mine I had learned to not take things for granted.

All we had wanted then was to wear Papa's shoes or Mama's saree with those specs and act mature. We'd even put on his clothes, clothes that hung off him now. It was hard not to break down every time I saw him.

I could not repress it any longer when he had told us what it was had been making him ill. When he said, 'if I don't win this...' I hadn't wanted to hear it. I had to believe. He had to believe that he could.

I had fought back the panic all weekend. I had been terrified. I didn't want to entertain the possibility that he might not get better or be here much longer. So I had asked him where he wanted to go after he got well. He looked at me with a little bit of surprise but did not answer. I had felt stupid for asking such a question. Maybe they were right.

A few months had gone by since then, they were ending his treatment. Kate explained to me the side effects of the radiation and that's why Papa had been acting confused. It also made him dizzy, the could carry on for a few days after treatment had ended.

The next evening, he didn't look like he had recovered much from last night. He barely ate at dinner. Mama had brought him to the sitting room after.

"Don't you think he would be able to eat properly by now if the radiation worked?" I asked Katie. Naturally, we feared the worse. The pounds had melted off his frame and he hardly moved from the wingback chair. He'd been scheduled for a scan last week to determine if the tumor was still growing or if it had responded to treatment.

We held their breath as they waited for the results. We held it every time Andy would sent a letter, asking how Papa was. We were not to tell him, as he needed to focus and keep his mind clear. To stay alive. It didn't need to be said.

He had returned after two months of being missing. His squadron had been lost and the war office had gotten all mixed up, and had taken longer than expected to contact them. If he had written then they would have ran the risk of being tracked, their location exposed. He was home now. And no one seemed happier than Papa. He thought it was a dream. We all had. He lives to see another day but how many? Miracles are short lived in war.

I was mostly bed ridden by now. One day, near the end of June, I'd gotten up and waddled myself downstairs. I seemed to be alone. No. They wouldn't leave me here all on my own. I was due any day now. I went into the foyer to the telephone. Underneath it was a slip of paper.

Mama had left a letter.

_"Good News! Just got back from the doctor,"_ Mama had written _"The tumor shrunk considerably! He goes back for a checkup in three months. Your father and I went out to celebrate. This is such great news!"_

I just stared at it again and started to cry. These hormones are really doing me in_._ But they were tears of joy. When Kate asked me "What's happened?" all I could do was hand the letter to her. She looked up in disbelief. After a second we embraced each other. That was all we could do.

* * *

_ Andy _

I was furious that they hadn't told me. Dad had cancer. I had finally gotten it out of his mother. It was hard to imagine. He was still weak but still improving. The effects of the radiation were catching up with him. That had explained why he'd almost collapsed. We were still not out of the woods.

I can't imagine him dying. He was always there. I never thought of dad as old, as much taking into account his partial paralysis, the complications of it that could end his life.

I can't think this way. Everyone else has had some loss or other to cope with, were still losing someone they loved to this God awful war.

The main thing is that he beat it, for now. He will be able to see George when he comes home. If he comes home.

Later when he was feeling better I had brought it up with him, that I'd be willing to stand up for him, if George didn't come home. He didn't want to talk about that, didn't want to think about it.

"But it's a possibility we need to face." I said. "I really wouldn't mind it, taking over the Earldom someday." Though I didn't have any true interest in it. George had been born to it. I wouldn't be doing so for him, but for father, to help preserve it for him, as he had for mother. "I would take up the responsibility. I'm a man now. War makes men out of us boys."

We talked about the estate, and I told him about going into business with Henry, selling horses for the races, (even though how much I disliked them) to help put money in. This peaked his interest. He couldn't be more prouder of me than in that moment. He didn't have to say a word.

* * *

Jay

It didn't come as a surprise when Uncle fell ill. I had always thought that people with his condition were not always healthy and were at risk. But I hadn't expected him to have cancer.

It wasn't fair that I couldn't come home from University to see him. Not only was I not aloud time off, my parents had wanted me to stay until the house was ready.

So, what? It's just a few more days. It wasn't fair to Geroge either, who hasn't come home. The war had ended a few months back and he was still listed as missing in action. He was most likely dead. Uncle most of all wouldn't want to hear it but it was best not to. I couldn't share his thoughts on the matter, especially now that he was sick.

That was when mother sent a cable, addressing that the illness was worse than they had thought.

Cancer. A word worse than war.

A war I had wanted to fight.

They had laughed me out of the war office after he tried to lie about my age, after Andy had tried but he had succeeded. I had grown taller over the next few months, and could have passed for eighteen by then. I could have tried enlisting elsewhere but then I had been accepted into the university for my academic achievements and being ahead of most of my classmates.

I was needed here.

He was in his own war that he needed to fight. I wish I could fight for him. I know he is the most proud of me and would want me to stay here. I would until I was needed at home.

In the mean time, I should send a letter to Aunt and Uncle. But what should I write. I wasn't good at expressing through writing unless it was one of his short stories or poems. I could write a letter of sympathy for uncle's illness. But that's what you sent when someone was dead, didn't you? Writing about how he was doing and how his studies were going sounded too superficial.

A week later, I received a cable from my parents.

**George found. Alive! Uncle Matthew doing fine. **

Was all it said.

That would mean that they would both be ok.

Aunt Mary had cautioned me once about using the phrase. I had been eleven years old and had picked up at school and it become a habit.

She had been angry about George and Sybie leaving for the war. She didn't have to tell me to know. She had been speaking to mother.

"Mary, dear you look tired."

"Well thank you for that." Aunt Mary had, slightly coldly. "Exactly what one wants to hear at the beginning of the evening." Sybie had earlier announced that she was joining the VAD. "I'm not tired, as a matter of fact."

"Well, I'm delighted to hear it. I'm very tired myself."

Later I had found his Aunt in her and Uncle's bedroom. It had sounded like she'd been throwing things.

"Auntie? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, darling."

"I thought I heard you shouting. You don't look fine."

"Well, I am. How has school been?"

"Very good. Where is Jo?"

"Getting ready."

"Who's car outside, the little red one."

"Jo's. It was her birthday present."

"She's got a car?" He was only eleven and couldn't do anything yet. "Lucky. Can I go and sit in it? When can I have a read? I want to go..."

* * *

Mary was thinking about her letter from Jay thinking of the same memory.

"Who's car outside, the little red one."

"Jo's. It was her birthday present."

"She's got a car? Lucky. Can I go and sit in it? When can I have a read? I want to go..."

She had laughed, the good humour and happiness restored by his presence. She was overwhelmed by her feelings for her nephew, the youngest. Edith's son, who would have thought? With his strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his mother's and Katie's, he could have even passed for her and Matthew's son. It kind of hurt that she would never have children again and sort of regretted that they hadn't had anymore. Then she thought of how raising five children so close in age had been more than a handful.

Not only was Jay brilliant, reading at four writing stories and poetry at seven, (a future Marquess being an author or a poet.) but hugely charming. At the age when young boys conversed about cricket and trains, (well he did have a love for airplanes. He better just stick with being the poet, she thought planes too dangerous, crashing all the time. And with how often she had heard them being shot down, she was at least thankful that George hadn't decided to join the RAF) Jay liked to talk about books, to other people, adults as well as his own friends, and the events of the day.

For his last birthday he requested a radio so that he could listen to the news and concerts in his room, only when he was home.

He would read the news paper every morning at breakfast. The girls, Carrie and Jo (who would pour over magazines together, though Jo loved to read as a little girl, and now only for her students and only listened to the radio to learn the foxtrot.) would tease him,

"You'll grow up dreary and boring like George."

"Or even Sybie." This was obviously from Jo.

To which he would reply that he thought Sybie the jolliest of girls and George was not boring at all either.

Just then Matthew wheeled into the room.

"Jay, run along, darling." Mary said, "go and get changed for dinner."

"OK."

"And don't say ok in grandmama's presence, please."

"OK."

"Jay."

"I won't, promise. Hallo Uncle, just going."

Now, he took out paper and pencil and wrote to his Uncle.

_Hello Uncle. I am doing fine. Now that I hear that you are doing well. _

* * *

Josephine felt that her world was fragile at the moment, from the moment he had said the word. _Cancer._ Well, it had always been fragile, but this is new. She didn't want to have to face it. She always ran away from her problems, whilst it be being alone or, more recently she had fled to America. When she had come back, luckily Nick had a double tour back to back, in New York, then straight back to London, then from there, France. Not so lucky when she heard her father say that word.

_Cancer._ An evil word. And he had laughed as he said it as if it didn't mean anything to him, like it was nothing, and she hated him for it. Didn't he care that he was dying? It wasn't fair. All he had been through, all he had given of himself, this is what he gets? What's the point of being kind, if this is what the universe does to you in return?

At least they could put a name to this mysterious illness. It had been one of her fears that it was something serious.

She still felt she was a disappointment to him, even though he had said otherwise. For some reason she had this belief that she had to believe that she wasn't a good person. She couldn't help think that he looked at her indifferently now. She wished she hadn't have come back.

She's always go out into the garden and talk a walk. She felt close to her grandfather, her Donk, and her father. Subconsciously she had stopped at a tree, not just any old tree. One of her earliest memories were of her father, sitting under it in his chair, reading a news paper or a book, how the sun would shine off his golden hair. How jealous she had been. While she and Kate would be gathering the seeds from the tree as they twirled to the ground, or something or other. And how he would put what he was reading down for a moment and smile at them.

After he'd had said that dreaded word, she went out and sat underneath that same tree, willing herself not to cry.

When I did cry it was a wracking sob that, whilst not having much control over, had a sympathetic effect on my spirits afterwards. Feeling so sad is natural. Better to acknowledge the terrible sadness, cry. It allows you to realise how important he is to you and to make use of every moment you have with him.

The strength of those around is important. He will be scared himself and needs you to be as strong, supporting him as possible. He worries about what effect his illness is having on us so I see him with as much liveliness and bounce as possible and then usually go and have a good cry afterward. The cat or my horse, Hotspur, are very good listeners, where I feel I can cry. With animals you don't have to pretend.

She wasn't truly her mother's daughter. She was her father's.

She could not believe it when they said it was almost gone. She wasn't naïve to think that it wouldn't grow again or spread. It could. There was good news to come, not necessarily all of it, but there would be a silver lining. Her father would always find one.

* * *

7 July, 1945, Carrie went into labor. A room was prepared for her at the Abbey. She had wanted a home birth. Kate would be assisting the midwife. Carrie was nervous as this was the first baby that Kate would help deliver. All throughout the birth the two sisters argued about. The younger one was worried, asking angrily through the pain, if she knew what she was doing.

The twelve hours of hard labour were worth it. A wrinkled, pink faced and healthy baby was brought into the world, wailing at in in protest.

Mary rushed out into the hall to retrieve her husband.

"Matthew, we have a granddaughter!" He made a move to pull himself up from his chair, "don't move. I'll wheel you in." She positioned the chair close to the foot of the bed then handed him the small bundle. As soon as she was placed in his arms and he peered down at her, tears tracked slowly down his face.

He never thought he'd live to see this moment. They asked him in unison,

"Are you alright?"

"Are you alright, Papa?"

For a second he was speechless. He found himself unable to form words. Before finally managing to say, _"_more than alright!"

It took a while to Carrie to decide on a name. It didn't feel right, with not having Miles there.

"I'm sure he'll be alright with what ever you call her. He'll be happy to have a healthy baby." Her mother stated. "Simply baby wouldn't do." She turned to her husband who was still invested in the newest family member. She teased him that he had enough time with her, that it was her grandmama's turn. "You can spoil her later."

The door bell rang. All of them stopped what they were doing. A sense of doom hung in the air.

Kate offered to get it. She was taking quite a bit and Matthew wheeled out to see. There stood an officer in the doorway. Kate holding a telegram.

Matthew felt his heart sink into his stomach, his gorge rise.

_ He's come to tell us. He's come to tell us one of my sons are dead. _

The officer nodded, tipping his hat. _Surely if it was bad news_...the thought was interrupted by Mary coming out into the hall. She asks something.

"A telegram came." Kate said, turning to her mother. She could not look at her father. Somewhat she felt guilt and shame. That he had hoped too much. Which is preposterous to even think and feel that way about him. She knows how much this will hurt him. She feared for him, that it would destroy him, more so than her mother. Not that her mother loved her sons any less. She did not want to see his expression when she reads the news. She knows what would be there. She had seen it on so many parent's faces. An expression beyond devastation.

_ It could also be that one of them has been found or injured. _But could she dare to hope? It was a carless term to use in war, especially being a nurse there had been little hope for most of her patients. It was hard to distinguish between loved one and patient sometimes. They were all lumped together in one group. The social divide didn't exist. War and death didn't care who had more money or if you were dirt poor. They were all claimed just the same.

This was one of his sons. Her brothers.

What ever happens they need to be there for their parents. They had lost a child at birth but this would be a different kind of pain. George and Andy had just begun life. They were young and deserved a full life that could be cruelly taken from one of them once the words were read. _Would papa believe them even if it is in writing?_

"What's it about. George?" Mary asks._ Is it George?_ She doesn't want to know. No. She much rather know, than not knowing where her oldest son's body was, or at the very least know what had happened to him. But then she thought, this could very well be about Andy. _George could already be buried in an unmarked soldiers grave and would never be found and they're informing us about Andy._ So many possibilities raced through her mind. A double crushing blow.

She turned her gaze to her husband. She hadn't wanted to look. Surprisingly he wore no expression.

"I didn't open it yet. Maybe we can, in the sitting room?"

Matthew stood up from his chair.

"Darling, are you sure..." Mary went over to him, placing an arm on him for support. He gave a nod.

"Carrie needs it more than I do right now. She needs to stay off her feet."

They all gathered in the sitting room.

He's ready for it, ready for the pain, for his heart to be ripped out. He doesn't know if Mary would be able to pick it back up. He tries to prepare but he won't be ready. He didn't come this far for this. He hadn't beat it for this to happen. He gazed at his youngest daughter. Her face was furrowed, unbelieving. She was one of the few besides Sybie that hadn't given up hope. She had secretly confided in him that she refused to believe the George was dead until the had proof. She had went along with her sisters because they would have just viewed her as the baby, as they always did. She would always be his baby girl no matter how adult she became. His Caroline, (he had never called her Carrie) sweet Caroline who had now blessed him with a grandchild. Maybe his first and last. He was living on borrowed time, ever since he was brought back to Downton in 1917. _For every birth there is a death. _

_Katie is not under the illusion. I had read it, in her eyes. She does not want to hope. Though when it comes to the cancer, she wants to deny it that it could kill me. She'd always look for an optimistic outcome. Although she'd look at me as if I was death itself, at least carrying the epitome of it. She had not meant to. I had heard her talking to her mother and sisters, and Andy. He had been here just a few short months ago. _It was hard to believe.

_"It may shrink over a long extended period after radiation stops." She had stopped talking when she saw me and gave that unintentional look. "Can I get you anything?" She didn't ask how I was. She says it gently. __S__he pulls out the nurse instinct in her when there are things over which she has no control. She talks as if I'm a patient not her father. I know this helps her. She's like my mother in that way. They were_ lucky,_ my mother, Robert, all of those who had died in the first,_ I had thought then,_ that they weren't here to see another. Those who were alive, will all die for nothing. Just like I will. My name will not be among those etched in the village memorial. I had always imagined my name there, that I belonged. It won't be there. My sons will. But we all will eventually be forgotten. _

_One thing I'm grateful for is that George is not here to see me like this. What it has done to me. __I won't see him like this, if he's been found and is alive, until I can pass for healthy. _

_ It. Referred to war and cancer, both interchangeable. __It gets inside you and destroys you from the inside out. One will eventually kill you slowly. _

If it doesn't grow or shrink any further over the next few months, he will still go through another round of radiation. Operation was much trickier, as it would mean a greater risk of infection, which the doctor was confident he'd not survive. But that is not what is really troubling him. He's trying not to break, to think of what this double blow would do if they were to lose them both. There had been so much uncertainty, it was near impossible to hold on to any hope. But he had to believe, that his son was alright. He had sensed it. It had been more than a dream. But that had been months ago.

He wants to see his eldest son, his first born, before his time runs out, or at least know. He wants more than anything for his son to be brought home, alive, not for his sake, for his wife and children. If he didn't see George, he'd be reunited with him in Heaven someday, even if he himself died before his son were to come home. That he could deal with. But for their sake, he had to.

_ Please Lord, give us this. _

He almost spirals into the familiar deep pit of despair and depression he had left behind long ago. He can feel it dragging, almost pulling him under. He feels Mary squeeze his shoulder. He knows her touch.

_ Mary._

He has to think about her, and the rest of the family. What this will do to them. He'll have to do so much, make preparation, to make sure they're looked after.

He had his eyes closed tightly, expecting the blow. He's trying to block out the pain. Mary doesn't have to do much observing to know that it was eating at him from the inside like the cancer had, taking its place. What would take it's place once it was known what happened to one of their children. What if it was George? Their first born? Her mind went back to the memory of his birth. How happy he'd been, like he 'swallowed a box of fireworks'.

Those fireworks would explode, destroying him from the inside out. It would rock the house of Downton, shake it's foundation. There would be cracks. He'd fall ill again, and then who would help her look after the children, help look after her? Would he be unreachable, that she'd spent all her time consoling him, and not their living children?

A distant wailing cry. A siren of warning. It took her a moment to realise that it was their grandchild who was in the next room. It was as if she knew that something was wrong.

Kate opened the letter with agonising patients.

George had been captured and had been in a prisoner of war camp, the allies had just liberated. Due to the conditions there, his injured leg had become gangrenous and they had to amputate... Kate stopped reading as she thought she heard a faint sound coming from where her father was.

Matthew sank down on the arm chair of the sofa but quickly regained his composure. He'd be coming home. He was safe.

"It says he's in hospital in..." Kate continued to read off. "He'll be there for a while till he can be sent home."

* * *

**AN: I have stopped here for now, as it may be a while till I come up with where to take this story next. I had to do a happy chapter, and the happy moments with the children growing up. George will be ok! But as always there are great struggles ahead. **


	12. Homecoming

Jo had been substituting the class at the schoolhouse, that eventful day of 7 July of 1945. She wished her brother could be here. He would have loved being an Uncle. She had already grieved for him, she and her sisters. They were no longer holding on to hope. Papa would hold onto it the longest, till his dying day, she believed.

She had thought of several situations that could have happened to him. She and her sisters would gather and speculate. _"He could be in a field hospital somewhere and he could have forgotten who he is and doesn't have any identification."_ Had been Jo's first thought.

_"He could have died, in any number of ways. The best we can hope for is that it was quick and painless. __He could have been taken prisoner."_ Carrie had suggested.

_"There could be no body to be found, like Jack."_ Kate had become weepy eyed, thinking of both of them. The three sisters had become silent. They stopped once they came to that conclusion. It wasn't healthy. So they didn't speak of it again, until their father had brought it up a few months ago when there had still been no word. After Mama had gone off after him, after he refused to believe it and had dismissed himself to bed, he appeared to have accepted it but Jo knew her father better. He was not talking about it anymore in front of them but that didn't mean wasn't still searching.

She could live her whole life not knowing but she wouldn't really be living. She would have wanted to know how he died, where he had fallen. All her childhood memories with George played back in her head like a picture film, as she walked the path to the little school house.

Thinking of George still brought tears to her eyes. As she had arrived at the classroom door, she shook the tears away. She had to be brave.

The children had all missed her, insisting that she come back, that her replacement was strict. She didn't quite believe them. She'd be staying in the village only for a few weeks. They talked about America and asked what it was like. It was a good topic for them to discuss, other than talking about the war.

"Are you really going to leave us again?" Six year old Maggie Newhart gave a sad pout.

Before she could reply, the new teacher returned. She didn't know why but she was surprised that it was a man.

She went home afterwards, just as if it were any other school day.

After her day she'd always take Hotspur out for a ride for about an hour. It was good timing. Carrie was about to have her baby. Babies didn't interest Josephine all that much. She did love teaching children however, not children in general. She hadn't even liked herself as a kid. Just like animals, children were easier to talk to, they didn't judge you as much. Not that she was comparing children to animals.

Two hours Carrie was still in labour, she had been most of the day. Jo hoped her own diagnosis was wrong, but she had already missed two cycles. It could be the stress over Papa and George, and the excitement about Andy safe return.

A few more turns on Hotspur, then she'd got over to the telephone exchange where Claire and Connie worked. A few more hours spent, surely there would be a yowling baby in it's mother's arms.

She found her sisters and her parents in the sitting room. Carrie was holding her newborn baby, who was soundly asleep.

"Family meeting?" She asked, pulling off her gloves.

"A telegram came." Her father started but couldn't finish. He didn't know how to tell his daughter without upsetting her. Usually he did know how. And he knew how to calm her, but now, he was at a loss. This shouldn't feel like a loss. In a way, it was like his own all over again. Will George ever be the same? Will he go through what he had? George is stronger than him.

"George was hurt." Her mother was the one to speak. "It's not too serious." But her voice eventually dropped off, not sure how to continue.

"His leg's been injured." Kate informed her. "He'd been taken prisoner."

"He'll...he'll be alright."

"Of course he will. They'll have to watch for infection." Her sister continued.

"Where...where is he? Does it say what hospital?"

Kate tells her. "I could go, help him get better."

"You know that's not possible, darling." Mary started but was cut off.

"I'll go with her." Matthew said, his voice without a waver. "She'll come with me to see him. We can stay near him."

"You most certainly will not! Do you know how unclean those places are? They have nurses there to take care of him. He'll have the most excellent care. You need to build your health back up for when he comes home."

"Mama's right, Papa." Kate finally agreed with her mother. "You could get an infection, it being so close after you stopped the radiation. And even if you hadn't, it would've been too risky. He needs to get better so he can come home."

Jo was still quiet. The new information sinking in. Her eyes fell on her newborn niece or nephew. "Can I see...?"

"It's a girl." Carrie said. "You have a niece!"

"And I'm an Auntie. It's hard to imagine it."

"It's even harder to imagine that Mama is now Grandmama."

"Was I meant to hear that? What is your dear Papa, chopped liver?"

"Are you saying I'm old?" Matthew asked with a smile.

"Most certainly not, Papa." Carrie almost blushed.

"Can I hold her?" Jo asked, sounding a bit unsure.

"I just got her to sleep. You'll wake her."

"Actually, that's a good idea." Kate made her way over, arms stretching down toward the bundle in Carrie's arms.

Carrie tried to edge away.

"What are you doing? You'll wake her. She's so peaceful now."

"We have to wake her up. It's time for her feeding."

"Yes. You must listen to nurse Crawley." Their mother said in a matter of fact voice.

"What better way to celebrate the news than with a baby." Josephine said as her sisters left the room. Her parents were awfully quiet. They never were. They were keeping something from her. "What aren't you telling me?"

"They had to...they had to amputate...his leg." Mary nearly choked.

"We must not fall to pieces over this." Matthew was speaking now. "This wouldn't be what he'd want. The important thing is, he's alive. And he'll be alright. We need to remain positive, so that he'll get better." Josephine went over to hug him and he put his arms around her. "It's going to be hard for him. And I know it will be on you."

"For all of us." She pulled back, took hold of his hands, and smiled. Then her smile dropped as the thought came to her. "Has anyone told Sybie or Miss Weston, Aunt Edith...Uncle Bertie...Jay..."

_ Jay. He's always been so close to Geroge. It will be so destressing for him, he'll be upset._ _It would be especially hard._

"I was just getting on to it." Her father said, your Aunt and Uncle are getting their new house ready. Jay's away at school but I'll be sure that he gets..." Jay was at his first year of University already.

"You don't have to worry about my dear sister, darling, or any of that. I'll tell them the news as soon as I can. I was going to write to them once they've gotten back."

Jo decided to leave the room, "I'll check to see how the others are getting on." But they didn't seem to hear her, as they continued talking, starting to argue. As she walked down the long hallways, they no longer felt warm. They were a breathing, frightful thing. She felt as if there was a shadow, hanging over her, watching her back. She couldn't shake the feeling. They were keeping something else from her.

* * *

_14 July, 1945_

Edith was going over Holcomb Castle. It wasn't as extravagant as Brancaster Castle or Downton but she was grateful for the downsize. All that great open space, though filled with servants and soldiers had been so lonely. She wasn't lonely anymore since she had met Bertie twenty-one years ago. They had now been married for almost twenty. She who loves last loves longest. She had always wanted a husband and children but that had almost slipped away from her. She had thought of herself as unattractive, the 'ugly' sister all her life. Now she thinking back she thought she had been ugly on the inside, having stooped down to her sister's level, always trying to one up her.

Now she had the life, not quite how she pictured, but it was hers, she had wanted. A husband who loved her and thought her beautiful, inside and out, a vision, as he put it. And a son. James, or Jay, as he liked to be called.

He was now seventeen. He had tried to sign up at sixteen, lying about his age like his cousin. But they hadn't bought it and had turned him away. Two months ago Germany had surrendered, though the allies were still at war with Japan, people were still celebrating all over Europe.

He would be coming home from school to stay with them soon. A cause for further celebration. She tried to take her mind off the thought that all would be well, that things would go back to normal. The world had barely recovered from the first war, her brother in-law and many others had barely or had become unrecognisable. They boys returning would find it hard to return to a changed world, as as much as the boys who survived the first. But they would not be thinking about the hard times ahead. Hitler was dead but the war was far from over, it seemed. And here she was, focused on decorating. It distracted her from her nephew's possible demise, that he wouldn't be found, at least till everything had settled down but it still crept into her mind. He could well be dead. The person it would ultimately destroy the most, was his father. She turned back to the swatches.

She was thinking about taking out the old furniture, fixtures and wallpaper. But she knew Bertie would be reluctant to part with any of it. He was so old fashioned and as bull headed as her father had been. He would have been eighty-nine.

Her thoughts went to her family. She hadn't heard from them in quite some time. The war was over now, but the mail still took ages. Mary had intended to sent a letter once her honeymoon with Hugh was over. But there had still been no word. No word of her nephew George. Andy had been gracefully returned to them, only have to be turned out to danger once again. What was the likely chance that he could have survived?

They were in the process of moving. The letter could come with in a few days. The post hadn't yet come today either.

When it was brought in, she instantly recognised her sister's scrawl on the envelope. Instinctively she knew she should sit down for this.

Her niece had given birth to a healthy baby girl, with no name yet. George had been in a prison camp, and was in hospital. He would be sent home once he was well enough. And Matthew was ill. It was serious. Mary feared that he didn't have much time. She wanted her son home.

_It might look like that might not happen. So I think I will take him to visit George, though I know how risky it is, that he could get an infection but I might come to regret it. Kate wants to be nurse to Matthew, much to his refusal. He's' not that bad now but it could. She even wanted to go to the hospital to take care of George but I assured her he was getting the best nurses there. I want all the children here, if anything were to happen. They're all so grown now. Carrie and Josephine are both married, it's hard to believe! And also I think Jo might be expecting! It's such good needed thought._

How could such good news come with the bad? Hadn't they had enough for a lifetime? This should be the joyous time of their lives, their children home safe, becoming grandparents.

"Sitting down on the job?"

"What?" Her eyes flitted to her husband, almost not registering him.

"You seem distracted, dear." Bertie looked from her to the letter in her hand, "Is that from your sister?"

"Yes. There's not very good news, I'm afraid. But some good as well."

"I think we all could use some."

_August 1944_

_On 15 August, in the northeastern suburb of Pantin, 1,654 men (among them 168 captured Allied airmen), and 546 women, all political prisoners, were sent to the concentration camps of Buchenwald (men) and Ravensbrück (women), on what was to be the last convoy to Germany._

_He engages the men in conversation, encouragement, trying to turn their fear into hope. Who was he kidding? He was just as scared. We're all the same._

_A young boy, about eighteen, approached him. "They pointed rifles at us and shoved us in here like cattle. How can you be so calm?"_

_George thought of his father, how he would handle things, what he would say in this situation. Thinking of him made him smile, kept him going. "Let's do what we're told. We need to survive. For our families."_

_"Do you have any family? Kids?"_

_"No." George was surprised he would ask such a he looked older than he was. "I'm not even married. I have a brother and sisters." He thought of his sisters smiling faces, and his brother...he didn't know weather he was alive or not. How much would he have changed? Would he recognise him if he saw him? One of his fears was if he saw his brother in this cattle car with them._

_"Parents?" George nodded. "It's just me. My parents are elderly." The kids parents had him later in life. "The Germans raided their business...they forced me to come, to work..." He wouldn't go into detail what happened to his parents. Maybe he didn't even now. George could imagine it. They forced him at gunpoint, just like he had said, and maybe promised that they would spare his parents. They would not be able to work as they were old. They could have killed them, once he was put on the train. "anyway, you should must have someone special. I wish I had."_

_There had been Sophie, the other Sophie. They were not to be in the village at certain hours, but he had lost track of time. She had found him behind a bin, Germans nearby._

_She had brought him to her home, conveniently out in the country. Her husband was dead. She lived with her father and her daughter._

_"Take off your clothes."_

_"Pardon?"_

_"Your uniform. Take it off. Quickly." What was she planning to do with it? She had to get rid of it. If they see her with it, there's no telling what they'd do. And if she burned it, it would be seen if a German plane were to fly over._

_He does quickly what he is told, almost tripping as his the leg of his trousers got caught around his ankle. She would have laughed, he could tell, if this had been a different situation. Never had he imagined a woman to ask him take of his clothes in that context that she had done. He also handed his ID tags over to her._

_She hid him behind a wall._

_Her father must not see him. Her daughter was only four and she could not keep a secret. He could come out after she took her to school and her father was at work._

_"What if I need to...you know."_

_She handed him a chamber pot. A fine porcelain one with a flower print. "Thanks." He had said it if it was the most precious thing in the world, a luxury. He flushed red, embarrassed by it and he saw that she was too. But it wasn't in the way he thought. She'd forgotten the simple pleasures, hers had been wine and his was a chamber pot._

_It it dark when she come back. It must be night. Everyone else asleep. Had he been asleep? Where had see been? It was dangerous to be out at night. The Germans can come seize this property any time they wanted._

_"Monsieur, are you there?" She whispered, her voice filled with hesitation. Perhaps she thought he had left._

_"Yes, Miss." He replied._

_"I got rid of your identification tags and uniform." She was risking her life for had already risked too much. He hadn't told her he'd been part of the uprising and they were looking for him. "Tomorrow I will get you my fathers clothes. They will fit well." Her English was almost flawless. "You won't draw attention to yourself."_

_"What is your plan?"_

_She didn't immediately reply. "You're not safe here."_

_"I gathered." He smiled. It must have made him look younger, for her demeanor changed, scolding him like he was a child._

_"Wondering the village."_

_"I know how not to get caught. My brother and I used to play hide and seek when we were lads." By her face he knew that she didn't have a clue what he was talking about. "If it makes you feel any better, I killed a lot of Jerries." It was meant to make her feel better but it didn't._

_"We need to get you back to Britain." They didn't know that the allies were already on their way, to start the liberation of Paris and the Northern cities. Out here they were isolated._

_"I can't agree more but how? The whole coast line is fenced off with barged wire and dogs. I can't exactly leave France by boat or by air."_

_"I have some friends. We go see them tomorrow."_

_"You are very brave." He smiled again and she acted like it annoyed her. She reminded her of Josephine. She secretly liked it when he smiled._

_"Or foolish. I have been told I am ambitious and unruly. I imagine I will hear that from my friends."_

_"Well, you won't hear anything else from me."_

_Her friends refused to help. It was too dangerous. They, he and Sophia, would have to think of another way._

_He didn't know how many days he had stayed with her. They didn't leave for days once, then one day she went out, and when she came home, she was deeply worried. He could see it written all over her face. She was trying to hide it over the joy. She had informed him about the liberation of the Northern cities and it would be no time before the southern ones were next. That had been a week ago. The 25 August. It was now September. He would have been reported missing, perhaps feared dead, by his family. He had more than himself to think about right now._

_She was talking about how they were starving in the Northern cities, and they would most likely here. "The money my husband has left us is almost gone. And winter will soon be among us. How are we to survive, to feed Vianne, and keep her warm?"_

_"You will not starve this winter, Mademoiselle. That's one thing you can be sure of. Your daughter will be warm and fed. I'll find what I can do."_ He grabbed her hands, their gazes met. She wanted to look away but couldn't. _"You look beautiful Mademoiselle, perhaps it's been to long since you've heard that."_

_"You should not do such things. Flirt."_

_"I'm sorry. I forgot about your husband. It must have not been very long ago."_

_"I am much older than you.'_

_"How much older? You can't be much older than me." He had never thought to ask._

_"Forty-three."_

_He couldn't help but gawk. Almost twenty years difference. He simply could not believe it. She was still good looking, attractive even. The German officers would find her the same. (if the Americans didn't come) They would do anything they wanted with her. If they wanted, they would have their way with her. He knows what they do, when their men are not around, or say they only had an elderly father that could not stop them. What they do to children, little girls. He wanted to protect her, them. But he cannot stay here._

_He had laid with her, an experienced woman. They lay in each others arms afterword._

_"You'll tell my parents, if necessary."_

_She sat up, adjusting her shawl around her. "It won't be necessary."_

_He was out in the fields, sitting cross legged, meditating, when he heard the voices. German voices. He could hear Sophia shouting for him to run._

_He could hear the firing of guns. He looked back and saw the daughter, wailing on the front porch, her face red. He willed himself to look away and continue running. Another gunshot._

_He never looked back again._

He didn't know what happened to them. They weren't on the train. He hears they had the women in different cars. But what about children?

Men start to argue. Buckets filled with piss and sick, among other things, spill all over the floor. George pulls his feet up so it doesn't slosh all over his shoes. He feels like he's going to be sick himself. It's strange that he felt like that now and had not when he had seen dead bodies. A large man yells at them to get out of the way and throws himself against the wagon.

"Don't waste your energy. If these walls could be breached don't you think a cow would have done it by now?"

The man angrily takes a step toward him.

He closes his eyes, waiting for the man to swing at him but nothing happens.

"Fancy man, think he knows better than everyone else." But it isn't a French voice. It was a fellow English one. He opens his eyes and immediately recognises him. Johnny Bates. _Oh no. _What is he doing here? _No_. _You can't be here_. He must have said it out loud.

"Don't worry." Johnny said. "Think of it this way, we'll be in this together."

_In other words we'll die together. _George thought.

Some of them were loaded onto convoys. Others were shot. They shot them dead. Nothing should surprise him by now but it does. The younger boy he had been talking to had been among the executed. He had been Jewish. _I wish I had a sweetheart._ The boys words echoed in his mind. He would never know love. George vowed to know it for him, live a life that should have been lived.

He was taken with Johnny, marched to another convoy, sitting beside either side of them at the back of the jeep were two armed Germans. One warned George if he tried anything what happened to the others will happen to him, only he might not be as kind.

* * *

_15 August 1945, _a year after the liberation of Paris _and D-day,_ the Japanese had surrendered. There were soldiers still deployed cleaning up the mess in Germany and other countries. Carrie's husband had not yet come home. He'd be staying with the military until at least the new year. She would be staying with them until then. She and Miles would be moving to London. They would be living near Kate, so she would be able to babysit. _ "We'll travel up as much as we can." She had informed her father. It was going to get harder for him to travel. He asked her if she could give him Miles' information, he would 'like to get to know the man who married my daughter' It hadn't been a complete lie. He knew Miles, being in the House Guards would also have connections. Miles wrote back to him apologetically. _

He could find nothing about George. Or Andy. They had not heard from him since May and had been starting to fear the worst, that his life too could have been claimed in the last few days of the war.

The news had finally reached Andy on the first of September (his reply had been delayed several months) that George had been injured and was being sent home as soon as he was healthy. On the second of September, Truman announced Japan's surrender and the end of the war for the allies. Though the war had ended in Europe back in May, Andy wanted to stay in the army for a while. _That's what George would have done, hadn't he been injured._ He wanted to do it for George. All those people would need all the help. He wished he could have come home for his niece's birth (but didn't seem too sad about it, What young boy would take interesting in such things?) He predicted that he wouldn't be discharged and sent home till after the new year.

Matthew started to think that he wouldn't be seeing his sons one last time, not on this mortal earth. He was about Andy's age when his father had started getting sick. It was before he left for University. He had joined his father at the kitchen table. Reggie had always been the first one up.

"_Good morning, father." He had greeted him._

_"Come and sit. Eat. I am in no mood for small talk. This morning was a rough start and we have business with my solicitor at ten o'clock sharply."_

_"We?"_

_"A friend of mine I was hoping could show you some ropes before you go off to that fancy school of yours." His voice was not condescending. He was genuinely proud but he also sounded troubled, "So you'll be ahead of the others." His father scarcely looked up from his plate. He had hardly eaten._

_"Aren't you going to eat?" His father had always been on about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day._

_"The doctor has prescribed me stomach powders for my indigestion but they are useless. The tea eases the stomach pain. Eat your meal. But do so in silence I have a splitting headache that threatens to ruin the day."_

He remembers that morning well but not what his father's last words to him had been, or his last words to him. What would be his lasts words to his children? He didn't want to leave them, at least not yet. He had to make sure they would be alright.

* * *

It was one October day, Mary was with Carrie in the day Nursery. It had been three months since George had been found. It would be another three till he could be sent home. Mary had been the one to visit him. On her first visit, seeing her son like that, his left leg gone, it tore at her heart. But he's alive. He is a living testimony, because he should have never made it, but by the grace of God, he did. She still couldn't help to think what sort of life he'd be coming back to. And with Matthew ill, she didn't know how to hold the family up, if he became worse. She knows he will. She pushes it to the back of her mind.

"How was George when you saw him?" Carrie asked. Her voice sounded far away.

She must have been thinking about him too. "Not very talkative." Mary replied. "With all the morphine they have him under." She hadn't been sure if it had just been that.

"I'm so glad that Miles works for the Horse Guards." Carrie displayed her relief. "and didn't have to go to the front. With Jack and what's happened to George and everything. I'm glad that Papa was too old to go, and had his injury so that he couldn't have volunteered."

Mary pressed her lips together, quickly hiding it by taking a sip of tea. "When is Miles due back?"

"I think by the end of the year." He had not yet seen his daughter. She looked nothing like her real father, thank goodness. She had the Crawley blonde hair and blue eyes. Although the blonde hair could fall out and become darker, brown like Miles' and her eyes had yet to change to their permanent color. They were all betting on blue. Her hair was so blonde that she looked almost bald.

Morrison, the Butler came in, "Telephone for you, My Lady." Mary stepped out into another room to answer it.

Mary listened to the doctors words carefully.

"Mhmm. I see." There was a pause on the other end or had the doctor said anything else?

Then he asked, "would you like me to speak with him?"

"I'll tell him. Thanks._" _She had time to wipe her eyes on the way back to the nursery.

"Who was it Mama?"

"Papa's results have come in." Carrie waited patiently. All Mary could do was shake her head before she could reply, "No change. That doesn't mean it's necessarily bad but things can..." She went over and hugged her mother, before turning her attention back to the baby.

"I want to name her Mattie, after Papa."

"Would it be short for anything?"

"No. It's just Mattie." The baby cooed and wrapped her fingers around her mother's hand. "You certainly like that name, don't you? Yeah, I think it suits you."

* * *

Mary and Matthew had not discussed what course of action to take next, after she told him the doctors findings. Then onward they never breached the subject. They could just sit and wait till things got worse. A few more rounds of treatment might eradicate it completely. Life had always been a series uncertainties. But not all uncertainties were heartbreaking or life shattering.

He was blessed with a grandchild. Mattie! He knows he shouldn't take pride in her being named after him. Pride cometh before the fall and all that. Mary was a little self conscious about being a grandmother, though she tried every chance to sneak away and spend time with her. Time she didn't get when she was younger with her own children, stuck in her traditional ways back then._ Grandmama's duties are different."_ She had told him when he had caught her. And they had laughed. He had never seen her more beautiful, in this new role. He imagined what it felt like for her, what she would have to say, _"Being a grandparent doesn't make you feel old after all; it makes you feel glad to be the age you are. It makes you feel you've actually achieved something."_

The feeling was different for him than it had been when he had first became a father. He had always been looking forward to grandchildren, especially since Caroline had gotten married. She had already been pregnant, but that didn't matter to him. No words could ever accurately explain the emotions he had felt. Ecstatic to say the least, would have been an understatement. A new life and a love beyond words. Being present at her birth, he had such a strong attachment. Seeing this child and falling in love immediately was an experience like nothing else. He wanted to protect her, never stop holding her. He wanted to be there for every moment, big or small. Every milestone. Always. But he might never be.

Grandfather! The new role he took honor in because it was a role not everyone had a luxury to have. He had thought he would never live to see that day, since his diagnosis. His father hadn't lived to know his grandchildren. He wished he could have known them, feel the joy of his first grandchild, had gotten to know George.

She was planning her next trip to see George and wanted him to come with her. Out of the few times she had been able to see him, she had never asked, because she had refused him to go, fearing it'd take a toll on his health. And he had accepted that. He had wanted to stay well enough for when George came home (it wouldn't have done any good for George's recovery) But now, was she accepting that this might be the end, that he ought to see his son, before the worst happened?

When they arrived at the hospital, he could feel the anxiousness, the anxiety, radiating off Mary. He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but he couldn't. _It would be lying to her. _

He wanted to go home and lie in their bed, with his arms around her. He had to get his bearings. He'd comfort her afterwards. George was waiting. They had both been longing for this moment, their son returned to him, though not in one piece. Knowing he was safe, that was enough for him right now. It would be difficult for him most of all. George and everyone else had to be put before him. He was old. Well, not quite. Sixty was still relatively young. His son had a life ahead of him, he would have to find it. And for his three month old granddaughter, her life was just beginning.

Mary had been fearing that he could be in the same state as before. The same state that her husband had been in the first few days he received the devastating news that he was paralyzed and would never walk again, never had children. They had been wrong of course. There was no being wrong about this. George would never walk, or so she had thought at first. Recovery would be long and hard. The amputation sight had to heal before he could be fitted for a prosthetic, then he'd have to get used to it before he could start learning to walk with it. It would take a long time before he could get back to a semi-normal life. That hadn't seemed to bother Matthew. They had their son back. _Back here psychically,_ Mary thought, _what would be replacing him? Matthew, had been replaced by something else when he had returned. _But he was still her Matthew but not quite. She had learned to love this different part of him, the man he had become. A little jaded and prickly around the edges, that had smoothed out over time, more reserved than he had been before. And at the same time he was kinder, it made him take things at face value, not see them as so black and white. That she had to be thankful for. He was still her Matthew in a way, just a bit different. He would always be her husband. And her son would always be her son, no matter how he has changed. She would still mourn the people that they used to be.

Just how much will he have changed? It still kept nagging at her. What if he was like before? She thought of Olivia. Maybe if they couldn't 'wake' him up, bring him out of it, maybe she could. She didn't want him to see his son like that, like he had been. _Please, let his father be enough. _

"Officer Crawley, you have visitors." The nurse led them to his bed, drawing back the curtain. Mary held in her anticipation. She was relieved that he was awake.

"Dad, why are you in your chair?"

A question, prompted by the morphine. He probably things he's at home. Matthew knows how to answer. He knows what not to do, look at Mary, or the injury sight.

"You know I'm getting old." He smiled at his son, not looking at his leg that ought to be there. "We had to travel a ways." There are so many things he wants to tell his son. He knows what he will be thinking. _The loss in not a punishment._ _You are still who you were before. _All of that will have to wait for later. _My son._ He wants to bend down and kiss his son's forehead. But he doesn't. He wouldn't want to be coddled. He's a grown man. Under the influence of morphine are not, he would not want to be treated as if he was a baby. _You'll always be my baby boy, my first born. _It took every ounce in him to not cry. _My son. My boy, how can I help_ you?_ By being here. Simply just being here for him. _ He waits for anything from George. But his mind is foggy from the sedative. It must wear off soon as he had been able to respond. He hadn't seemed too incoherent. George doesn't say anything more. He closes his eyes. It's then Matthew turns back to Mary.

"I think he's still out of it." He was unsure but he was hiding it. He knows the feeling, of being in between one place and another.

"I can ask the nurse when it should wear off."

He feels his son gently squeeze his hand. "Mary, wait."

George tries very hard to listen. He closed his eyes because it's hard to focus that way. He thinks, that voice belongs to his father. He can't believe that they're both here. Where ever here is. He could be at home. This wasn't his bed though. He could be dreaming. Dad never came to see him. Mum had been worried he'd get sick. But Mum having visited him before could have been a dream as well. If they were real, he was determined to like. He wanted to wake up.

He opens his eyes again. He reads his father's expression, or there lack of. He was hiding behind a smile. He saw where his gaze refused to go. This had to be real if he could characterize every detail.

"I know they amputated my leg." As he says it, he feels the pull of darkness.

Matthew's face threatened to crumble but he held fast. "You'll be alright."

_I know that now that you're here._

* * *

George didn't want any visitors at times, when it was a bad day, which was quite often. Now that they were lowering the dose of morphine. Quickly he changed his tune when it was Sybie, (she'd been only able to visit a few times, she was still helping in France) even Olivia, he didn't protest. He needed to see a friend.

"My dear, friend, what did I do to deserve you?" He gave Olivia a weak smile and pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"It's really great to see you too." She pulled up a chair, sitting next to him. They got caught up on old times, she talked about what she had been doing to help the war effort, making care packages from the soldiers that were still prisoners of war.

"You can't leave out books."

"Of course, how could I not? Not what the Germans banned of course."

His voice dropped into a serious tone, but it was also boyish, and filled with worry, a hint, perhaps of panic and quilt. "Johnny was there with me. I didn't look out for him. I said I would. I went to see him one day in his block, they said a young boy died of fever. I don't know if it was him."

"There was no way of knowing if it was. I'm sure things will be known soon."

That's what he was afraid of. He didn't want to know the fate of his friends. Or Sophia, and her daughter, wailing, red faced on the porch, as Germans swarmed the house. He dared not think, but he did hope that they were taking prisoner as he had and had survived. It was a small stone in a small pond of hope. But it was something, better than letting his mind drown in a deep sea of despair. He let himself think that. That they were safe. And she had a life of her own now, free. Now he must live his.

"Was my mum and dad here?"

"Yes. Your mother was here. She's been to see you four times in the three months."

"I must have been out of it for that long. Have you been to see me since then?"

"No. This is my first time."

"My dad was here too, wasn't he? I wasn't dreaming that?"

"No. He was here too."

With that he was satisfied. He was too worn out now to ask anything else. He sunk back into the pillow and back into sleep. He didn't fear sleep for he did not dream. When he did, it was of her, his darling Sophia. To him sleep was a blessing. Sleeping had been a curse for his father when he had come back from the first one.

_He isn't doing well. He's ill._ He remembers being told. He knows what that meant for someone like his father.

_Father. __Would he be alright?_

This time he dreamed that he was a little boy again, in his father's lap. Three years old, pushing his father's chair around, trying to reach his truck that had fallen under the settee, with his stick. He didn't know if it was real. But for now, he didn't care. He was free of pain.

* * *

Jo walked past her parent's bedroom, stopping as she heard her father's voice. She expected for her mother to reply back but no one spoke back. She peered through the crack of the door.

He was praying. She'd never really seen him to do it.

"I never asked for forgiveness, for the things I've done. I'm not asking for a miracle." He stopped, straightening as he hear the sound of the door.

She knelt down and prayed with him, silently.

"What is it that you have done Papa?"

"Things I've done in the war." He wasn't telling her the whole story.

"Papa, I have to tell you something." She didn't have the exact words to tell it, as all words evaded her. She showed him, pulling back her petticoat, to reveal her swelling stomach.

"This is wonderful, wonderful news!" He looked back up at her. "How long are you?"

"A few months I expect."

"Nick must be thrilled."

Jo shrugged. "Nick and I haven't been speaking."

"Everything alright? He hasn't been mistreating you I hope."

"No. He's a gentleman. He's been very kind. I love him. Just not in that way."

"If you're unhappy, I can help you get a divorce. You can come back here and you and the baby will be looked after."

"People will talk."

"They do about Carrie."

_Yes. Why wouldn't they by now. With how long it was kept hidden._ But the whole world was still in mourning. The gossip didn't have that much of a hold as it would have. War distinguishes what's important and what isn't. Let them think it's just that, gossip. He thought about what his youngest would think.

"But that's Carrie. She doesn't care what people think. I do."

"You can go to America and stay with your Aunt Amy and Uncle Harold or Rose and Atticus. You could have a better life there. Either way it doesn't matter. I won't see it."

"Don't talk like that Papa."

"You know, I might not." She could see the moisture in his eyes. "Has your mother told you?"

She shook her head. She found herself praying to a God she didn't know if she could believe in anymore. She had knelt for his benefit. Papa would always believe in God, even though he gave him the cancer that was slowly killing him.

"She's been taking me to get treatment near George. We won't get the results back for a week now."

She nodded subtlety. "How is he, our little Georgie?"

Before he could make a reply, her mother had entered.

* * *

A week later, after weeks of anticipation, and anxiety, the results were in from the doctor's office. Matthew had been the one to answer the telephone and was glad that he was the one who did. The nurse on the other end was being vague, while she sounded charismatic. Over charismatic people had something to hide, was one of Mary's motto's. He didn't want Mary to expect the worst. The nurse didn't discuss the results over the phone, his doctor wanted to see him and go over it in person.

"Who was on the telephone, darling?"

"It was the nurse from Kent."

"Is it George? Has something happened?" She was hopeful that he'd been making a better improvement.

He shook his head. "The results. She asked if somebody could come with me. I don't think if it was good news I would be seen so quickly. "

"Oh, my darling! You know I'll be with you every step of the way. You remember when told me, there is always a silver lining?"

He nodded "But for this?"

"Even for this. We just have to keep looking for it. Whatever the outcome is." She squeezed his hands, desperately she wanted him to see. See what? That it would be alright? She couldn't promise that exactly. _ Live, I want you to live. _She had told him all those years ago, when he had seemingly given up, after his injury.

_ That doesn't apply to_ this. He thought._ Or does it? Yes, of course it does._ They could still make the best out of the time, the little time he might have. _Keep looking. Just like she had tried to keep looking for the real me, after the war had changed me. _He wondered when it was she had stopped looking, and accepted the man he was, in order for him to move on. That had been the first step toward accepting and loving himself.

_Mary was such a pure, beautiful soul. The first instant we caught each other's gaze, though we used to deny it, we connected. Looking into her eyes filled me with comfort and calmed my fears, even to this day. Mary loved me so much, and I loved her too. But I had hated myself even more for it back then. The love, I had felt unworthy of. It is easy to explain yet hard to understand for some. It's feeling shameful about who you are. Feeling guilty or embarrassed about who you are, deep in your core. You feel 'different'. Damaged or flawed in fundamental, irreversible ways. You don't love yourself. Alas, there's no return policy in life. We're stuck in this skin forever, and the hate, the self-pity – it gets us nowhere._

_I didn't believe I was worthy. She could see the man I was, beyond the shit-storm that was my life. She saw through my shame and self-hatred. _

_Mary, had to think that I was perfect and wonderful at all times. She had been my entire support system. _

Now he needed her support more than ever, and the children's, but they had enough on their mind. He wouldn't let himself fall down that deep dark rabbit hole, the pain and depression, like a dark, heavy, thick blanket, that he had finally shaken off all those years ago.

When they were young, to bring him down to earth, she'd remind him how much life there is to live "_right now_, _in this moment_. This moment, between the two of them. She'd kiss him, hold his head in her hands, tousle his hair and look deep into those blue eyes she loved so much and say, 'I love you for exactly who you are, right now'. He is enough. Those first few bleak years after the war, she had told him to chose life.

Words like that wouldn't do now. _Life, and live, _were too delicate a word. He might not have much of a life left to live. There was no choice over this. He wanted to chose life. But if it is his time to go, he must accept it.

There had been the questions, concerning his health, in the beginning. Being a paraplegic, even a particle one, there were risks. Such as a common cold could kill him if it turned in to pneumonia. His life expectancy, even after he had regained his countenance, and no longer had to use a catheter, they had thought it would be cut in half. He hadn't been expected to live past his forties.

He was fortunate to have made it to sixty. He said to Mary.

"Let's go to the day nursery. Mattie's about to be up by now." It will be a good distraction. It would brighten his spirits. "What were you and Jo, talking about?"

"We're going to be grandparents again." Her eyes sparked at this, and he returned her gaze with a smile. "There's your silver lining." They came to the nursery door and entered_. _He wheeled up to the cot, while Mary pulled up a chair, but didn't get the chance to sit down, as Matthew caught her hand. "You taught me how to live again, and to accept myself, and made me oh so very happy, and richer in my mind and body and my soul than I ever could have imagined. I know why God, brought me back. For this." He smiled down at his granddaughter, then pulled on Mary's hand, signaling her to bend down. He kissed her cheek, then the top of her head. Mary felt the warm tear drops fall onto her head but she did not yet look up. He clung to what was most precious to him.

Still there was that small voice in the back of his head.

The mistakes he had made had led to more shame and guilt. If he told her who he really was, what he had done, she would not quite love him the same. He was not ready for that. _Let me die as the man they all think I am. _

But he was not ready to die. Accepting and ready were two different things.

The dreaded day came, the visit to the doctor's office, later that afternoon. They sat in that dreary room, (maybe it felt that way because they were going to receive the life changing or life ending news) gripping each other's hands tightly, as they waited for the doctor, telling each other that 'whatever happens" for what felt like eternity.

As the doctor laid his chart and files over the table, explaining, he might have been speaking a foreign language. The cancer was gone. If it didn't come back with in the next five years, it most likely never will.

It didn't seem possible. That daunting past two weeks, greeted with unexpected news.

Before Christmas, Matthew and Mary and the family came down to see George, minus Jo, she was feeling down, with morning sickness. What was supposed to be a reunion of sorts was cut down to two people visiting at once, the nurse heckling them. "If he's to get better." She had explained. But he already looked it.

George was now sitting up more and his colour was returning to his face. He was telling Andy that he should be getting his prosthetic soon. "You won't be able to tell the difference."

"Cool. I wish I had some battle scars to show off. Not even a gammy leg. Just a thumb that won't bend right." He was still lucky that the blast had been far enough away; though the energy of it had still blasted his backward, his finger jamming in the trigger hold of the gun (not the actual trigger itself) and had broken his thumb. "They might have to re-break it."

Matthew smiled as he overheard the conversation. They were strong lads. They can move on from this. George was taking his injury in stride and more accepting of the news, of the life that would be very different for him. But was he really alright?

He wasn't sure how to ask or even help his son. He would need the help. Or did he not know or was he in denial how hard things would be?

_Let him be happy. Let him smile and laugh, with his brother and sisters. _

He thought back to the old days, when he had tried to convince Mary to leave him. How she had tried convinced him that he had to do his exercises.

_"What's the point?" He had asked. _

_"Keeping your strength up will help cut back your risk of infections." _

_ "It won't by much. I'll never walk again. My life as I knew it, is over." _

_"No. It's a start of a new one. We just have to..." _

_ "It's not going to be easy. It'll be hard." _

_"I know it will." _

_ "No, you don't know." He had said in a soft whisper before bringing his voice up, filled with anger and self hatred, "Am I just a project to you to fix so you can feel better about yourself or because..." you want some broken man that you can control?_

_"It's because I care. Don't you see? I want you to live."_

He had chosen to live. He wanted his son to chose the same. Whatever he might be feeling, whatever he might be masking. They'd get through this, together.

Someone put their hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his memories, he had nearly flinched.

"George is wanting to see you." His wife's lips brushed his ear. He started forward but then stopped, looking back, he realised she wasn't following. He asked if she was coming. "Just you darling."

The curtain was drawn to give them some privacy.

Mary tried to listen in, but all she heard was muttered exchanges, then,

"I need it more often. I'm getting old. That's what you asked last time."

"I was told you were sick. You looked fine when I saw you."

"You were out of it then."

"What was it? What did you have?"

"I'm doing fine. You don't need to worry."

George was too tired to put his energy into hammering his father for answers, whatever it was had been serious, life threatening. Any illness to his father was.

Matthew knew it would come back up later. He talked of his visits from Sybie and Olivia. "Not together. Sybil comes less often. She's still helping with the hospitals, with that doctor of hers. I won't be home for Christmas, which is a big bummer. That word is so American. I have my friend, Jimbo, to thank for that. That's Sophie's brother." Then he stopped, remembering. His eyes blank for a second. "He was killed a few months ago." He said this nonchalantly, a little troubling but it still had yet to sink in. "It was a bomb, they said. He went back to rescue the injured, he got caught up in it. And when everything settled, there was nothing left. A hero till the end." And he had been holed up in the French countryside, safe and warm in a beautiful French woman's bed, with food in his belly. He had been a deserter, living in comfort while his friend had been saving lives and had gotten blown up. _Can't be feeling sorry for yourself, old chap. _"I'll have to write to his sister but I suppose they have already gotten the news." _Dear sweet Sophie. _She wouldn't want him like this now but at least he had his family. "I'll be home some time after the new year, they expect."

"A new year. A lot of changes."

"For the better, I hope. Hopefully the war will feel over by then."

"It will be a change for you. A lot of adjusting, but remember we're here for you. Whenever you need the help, just ask for it."

"I won't need..."

"You've been taking all day. We barely got to see him ten minutes tops." Andy's voice carried through the curtain from across the room. "What have you two been talking about?

"Girls." George hollered back. Something muttered from Andy. He turned back to his father, "do you have the time?"

Matthew took out his pocket watch, "Half past six."

"All this talking's made me tired." George said and gave a yawn.

"It's been a really long day." Matthew agreed, get your rest."

The curtain was drawn back and the rest of the family bustled over. Matthew took them to a side a moment and told them George was tired and it was getting late, they should all head back to the Hotel. Some of the children groaned, then said Happy Christmas to him, each of them in turn.

The nurse, seeing the exchange, ran over, practically shooing them out the door.

Before the new year Sophie had come to see him. He had tried to turn her away, saying that she was still going to marry him.

* * *

31 December 1945, eight months after Germany's surrender the Horse Guards disbanded, and Miles is finally shipped home. The first then he did was go up the nursery to see his daughter. He committed on how bald she looked.

"Papa says all blonde babies look like Winston Churchill." Miles' eyes watered with tears of laughter, yet reacting as if it was the most sacrilege thing to say. "If you compared Mattie's picture with mine, Kate's and Andy's at that age, we'd all look like triplets. Even Jo's even though she isn't blond."

"I don't think Josephine would appreciate being compared to Winston Churchill." Miles wiped his eyes. Josephine walked in and they both started laughing.

"What?" They only laughed harder.

Matthew was very fond of Winston Churchill and believed that the man knew what he was going, that he was smart and tactical. The family had all gathered round the wireless on 10 May,1940, on Matthew's birthday, to listen to his speech. It had not been long after Churchill had been sworn in as Prime Minister. As far as world leaders went, the president of the United States, FDR, their mother had committed "if the man can run a country from a wheelchair, you can run an estate." He'd been worried about getting older, that he might be confined to his chair. The early to mid-nineteen thirties, he'd occasionally be self conscious about it. It would always be there. Mary would assure him.

Once she had told him, "It's the mind who makes the man. Not the body. Who was it who said that?"

Matthew had smiled at the misquotation." It is the mind that makes the body rich. Shakespeare, Taming of the Shrew, act four."

"Am I supposed to be the shrew in this situation."

"It did take me awhile to tame you." He teased.

"Sea Monster." Then he had pulled her onto his lap and gave her a kiss.

* * *

Just after the new year, and Kate's birthday, Anna Bates made her way up the snowy path. She hadn't been to Downton in almost two decades. The shadows cast from the large castle, looming over her, did not feel menacing. It was home, were she had sought refuge all those decades ago. It was be her refuge again. She thought, looking up at it, her suitcase banging against her knees.

Mary, was the first to great her old friend, and eagerly welcomed her back. They got caught up on old times. She told her about how Matthew was, that he was doing much better, that he had been ill but she didn't go into further details. "How's Bates?"

"He died, a few years back."

"Oh, Anna, I'm so sorry." She pulled her dear old friend into an embrace.

"I would have told you, but I felt it would be better this way, and then with the mail. It had been hard to get anything through." She had thought that telling one such things over the phone or in a letter was tactful.

"Yes, of course."

"He had cancer. That's why Johnny went off." A lump went to Mary's throat. The fear that it might come back and claim Matthew's life this time gripped her. She could lose Matthew to this as Anna had lost Bates. She was glad she hadn't brought Matthew's cancer up to Anna. Anna might feel jealous, even outrage, that Matthew had survived it, and Bates had lost his battle_. No. Anna would never think that._

"I haven't heard from Johnny in quite some time." Anna continued. "With the war over, it will be any day now." Any day now that they might tell her that her only son is dead.

_Why does bad news have to accompany the good in three fold?_ Mary thought.

"I know Andy and Johnny became great friends. Last time I heard from you, your boys were missing."

"They're home, safe now! With George it will take a little adjusting." Mary looked around as if to see if anyone was listening.

"Do you think they would know anything? Anything little that might help?"

"Andy hasn't seen him since they trained together. I could ask. But first, let's get you settled in."

"I was thinking of staying in the village."

"Now I won't have that. You're not going to stay in one of those drafty, old cottages. I don't know why Jo had insisted. Privacy, I guess." She lead Anna down to the servants quarters.

They weren't the only ones down there. Ms. Mac, Mary called her, the cook was doing the dishes. She introduced the two woman. Mary went on to say that they'd been short handed with the young servicemen off to war, the young women joining the war effort. The kitchen maid and the rest of the servants had the day off.

"I'd be glad to help out, wherever I can for as long as I can. As I'm needed. I don't plan of staying indefinitely." Could she just step back into her old life as easily as stepping into a pair of shoes? Or would the memories and echo of her husband in these halls haunt her? Johnny had spent the first two year of his life here, not old enough to remember or have an attachment for it. It was a beautiful place.

"You're not staying?" Mary had to ask, to be sure.

"I don't know if I can just go back to being a maid again."

"Anna, you were hardly ever just a maid. You were a lady's maid to me, and a friend. And you still are. "

Anna smiled. "Yes milady."

"You can call me, Marry, when no ones around." A moment passed between them, they had recaptured from their youth. Anna was the same age as Matthew but still had a youthfulness about her, it seemed she had hardly aged except for a few lines, and strands of grey, her blonde hair lighter. Mary hadn't had a grey hair yet. And she was dreading that day. "I'm not talking about being a maid again. My housekeeper's retiring. And I need someone to fill her position."

"I...I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing. Take time to think about it."

"Thank you. Thank you, so much." She headed toward the old servants quarters. She needed to lay down, not from the long journey, but from the excitement.

"Oh and Anna, you'll always have a job and a home here, for as long as you want it."

* * *

At the end of January George was finally able to come home. The family had presents for him, and took part of the family tradition of 'The Game" a.k.a Charades but George hadn't joined in, claiming he was too exhausted. Bertie and Jay were the winners as always.

"We're the master's of the game." Bertie said, cheekily.

Jay voiced that he was thinking that he might go into the army.

Andy broke across the awkward silence. He wanted to throw George a proper welcome home party "after he's settled in"

"Not just yet." Matthew said. "It might take some time. He needs all the rest he can."

"Yeah, but he can't stay in bed all day. Can't argue with that. Doctor's orders." Andy patted his father on the shoulder.

Jay would go up to see George, and his mother and father. Everyone else would tiptoe around him when he was in one of his 'bad moods'

Jay read him the letters he received but the warm, kind words of praise and thankfulness of his service and his survival, did not penetrate his walls that he had put up.

Sophie had come to see him the first time since he'd been home, no one had known that she had come to see him at the hospital. Once more he turned her away. She said she would try to convince her parents but it was no use. On her way home back to America, she had written him that her parents were right. She was too young and had a life ahead of her. She was marrying someone else, that she would feel better if he would forgive her and hoped that they could be friends.

He didn't come down from his room for days after that. Matthew was more concerned, bringing back the memories of own dark days.

George had only told his father and Jo about the real reason of her leaving. Her parents badgering and bullying hadn't budged her but when the nurse had told her the reality, it will be a long hard road ahead for George, it might take a year or longer for him to recover, depending if he did his exercises right away, and started to walk again as soon as possible once he stump was healed, he might not walk at all.

Just as well. She wasn't good for him. Was the hole families thoughts on the ordeal.

Jo had confronted Sophie about it, at her engagement party with the other man. It wasn't hard to find her parent's place. She and Nick surprisingly didn't live far and the white pristine mansion stood out against the dwarfed brownstones. She had posed as the entertainment, actually performing. _The bitches mouth almost fell to the floor when she saw that it was me. _Jo wasn't vindictive but when it came to her family, her Georgie...

Sophie had tried to run away from her.

"You're some cool, you are. Never think there was a time when you were engaged to someone else's brother and broke it off."

"I visited him at the hospital numerous time and he turned me away. Last time I saw him at the house, told me he didn't want to ever see me again. He didn't tell you did he? Never asked for me?"

"No. But..."

"There you are, then. No good crying over spilled milk. Better off without me."

"How can you talk like that, just because he's lost a leg."

"He told me to go away and find myself a proper man and that's what I'm doing!" She ran up the steps.

Perhaps the heartbreak her brother had felt was feeling guilty about having sent her away, that it was his fault, that he had pushed her toward something he might not have wanted. Jo never spoke about their encounter or her name again.

A few days later, much to their surprise, George wanted to be up and about. He said he didn't want a party for himself. "Let's have it for Johnny."

Johnny was returned home safely, not unscathed, like Andy. He had a few fingers missing from his hand. He had told nobody else but George and always kept it bandaged.

"The Germans chopped them after I was thieving. I'm lucky that's all they chopped." He had been caught stealing a loaf of bread, little did they know, he hadn't been stealing it for himself but for a little Jewish boy. "It would have been much worse if they knew. I felt like Jean Valjean."

"Who?"

"With a big room full of books you'd think you'd own it. Like every book ever written." He exaggerated. "You never once read Hugo's "Les Miserables?"

"No thanks. There's been enough Les Miserables."

Johnny nodded. They were soon joined by Andy.

Over the next few months, George didn't waste time sitting in bed. There were a few times where George would not come down and he'd been worried. But when Olivia had come to visit, he got out of bed, more and more. When he was in bed he'd prefer sitting up more, than laying down. He still resided in the sitting room. He could not yet navigate the stairs. That was still a far way off yet. Matthew understood his son's anxiousness. He needed to be encouraged to be patient. He went down to see his son, expecting him to be wheeling around the house, like a man on a mission, (he had joked with him that they could have a race. George had responded, _which I'd win, old man._) or taking breakfast with the family as he frequently did.

But today however, on an usually cold day in May, George was lying in bed in front of the fireplace. His leg must be bothering him. The weather even had Matthew's back flaring up. He'd take some pain medication for it later, which would mean, he'd be out for the rest of the day.

"I know the feeling son." He sighed and sat down of the bed.

George moved nothing but his head, "Do you? You would."

"How's the..." He nodded toward the stump. He still had the prosthetic on.

"Still hurts like hell." The prosthetic always chaffed. It almost looked raw again, a few days ago when he'd last taken it off. He was afraid to now. He was afraid to look at it.

"You're supposed to take it off every few hours."

"Where did you get that information from Sybie or Kate?" George didn't hide his disapproval. He let his anger known.

"Sybie's written to me." He admitted.

George's eyes narrowed, accusing. "You mean you written to her and she wrote back."

"Only because I couldn't ask Katie. And I know Sybie's worried about you, I am. We all are."

"We'll I'm perfectly fine. Apart from the chaffing." He turns on his side, his back to his father, pulling the blanket tighter over him.

He knew what his son was doing. He didn't want the help or support, not because he didn't think he deserved it, because he wanted to do it on his own, and not have people 'baby' him. At least that's what it appeared. He had made further progress than he had with his own injury, it had taken him much longer. But it worried him how easily George had immediately accepted it.

"If it persists, we can make an appointment."

George turned back to him and nodded. "I think I might do that." He layed down on his back and grunted, "it's been four months. I was starting to get used to it. It feels like a set back. I can't get out of bed when it's hurting.

"These things take time. You must be patient. That's part of the healing process." After a moment, Matthew smiled and huffed out a laugh.

"What?"

Never had he thought saying those words to his son or imagined being in a position similar to those who had helped him recover. "You're handling it better than I would have."

"I wouldn't have been able to, if it weren't for you, if you were able to walk normally. Because I've seen you do it. I can handle it alright." He thought a moment, "if you hadn't been injured, you would've been too old to join up. "You'd have probably joined the house guards like Miles. Lazy tosser." He muttered the last words under his breath.

"Eh, that's your sister's husband."

"Who says in-laws are to always get along? " He took another pause, then shrugged his shoulders. "He's fine for Carrie, I guess."

"What do you think of Jo's husband?" Jo had stayed with Nick after all. She was living in America now and would be planning the trip down for Christmas. Eight months away. The baby had been born in February. Little Noah. He would be ten months by then, big enough to travel.

"The American. Have to meet him yet, don't I?" He shook his head, before changing the subject, "I think you would have worked with the war office."

"I practically did, when you went missing. And your brother."

George hung his head for a moment, feeling guilty. "It's not the worst that could have happened to me. You and mum must have thought the worst."

"We've been through a lot."

"We've all lost a lot. I lost someone."

"Your friend Jimbo?"

George looked puzzled and then shook his head. "I told you about him, didn't I?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to talk about him now. But no, that isn't who I lost." Matthew tried to make sense of what George was saying. Maybe it was the pain or he was just tired. "I've forgotten some things, but don't think I don't remember me telling you that I knew you were sick."

"You don't want to talk about your friend, I don't want to talk about this. It's..." he hesitated on the word over. "I'm fine now." Omitting _for now._

"I want to know what you had." A sinking feeling in George's stomach indicated that he had the slightest notion...

"I was dying."

"Was?"

"Cancer." George sucked in his breath. "I was getting treatment, while your mother and I were visiting you. It's gone now. There's nothing for you to worry about." He took his son's arm. "I guess I'm not ready to die just yet." He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

George couldn't believe what he was hearing, though he'd been expecting it. He could have died. After the hell he and his father had been through, there were still blessings. He hadn't seen his father in over a year, all of them. If his father had died when he was still in the hospital, he didn't know how he could live with it.

"I want to stick around at least to see you all married, and give me more grandchildren. Lots and lots of grandchildren."

"I don't think there's a chance for me."

"Now, I don't really believe that. You've got the Crawley charm and looks. It would be a shame for some woman to let that go to waste."

It was George's turn to smile and laugh. That was Matthew's new mission, to get him to smile and laugh as much as possible. His son's laughter then stopped, a haunted expression crossed his face.

"There was someone. Sophie."

"You're not still hung up on her are you?"

"No. It's a different Sophie. Sophia." He told him how she kept him hidden from the Germans until they had found them.

"She sounds very special and very brave."

"She was...is." He didn't want to believe she was dead. "I don't know what happened to her. She had a daughter, who's four, and an elderly father..." The man might be a traitor to his country but he didn't want some horrible fate bestowed upon him. "Her husband was killed early on." Early on in the war. There was still a certain slang when talking about or mentioning the war.

"I still have connections. The war office 'does' know me pretty well. I can put in some favors, and find her and her family for you, if possible. Do you know what her last name is?"

"Durant. She's French. She's a bit older..." He didn't want to disclose her real age yet.

"You sure do have a thing for older women."

"Dad." George said with embarrassment. But it wasn't due to Sophia's age. He'd never be embarrassed by that. Even if they were to find each other again, marry, she'd be too old to have more children, to give him an heir. They could adopted. There would be plenty of war orphans. He shook his head. He had to think realistically. _All dreams die in war, or they have to become new ones._ "I appreciate your offer but no. I'd rather not know."

"I'd rather know."

"Yeah, well, I'm not you. Sometimes not knowing is better."

"What about Olivia?"

"She's more like an older sister, or a friend. She's what I imagine Beth would have been like." He looked up. Something touched his father's eyes that he could not place. George surprised himself, admitting he never thought of her. "Can we go visit grave? And the others. To pay respect. To all of those who died in the first one and to all the ones we've lost and honor those yet to be buried and those who will never have a grave."

"Yes. Of course."

* * *

The chauffeur had dropped them off near the entrance of the graveyard waiting for them but the would be a while.

They both wheeled side by side, after stopping at each gravestone marking where their loved ones were laid to rest, then on to the memorial, finally stopping at Beth's grave. Her tiny headstone. George wondered how they got all those words on the fine granite without looking squashed or sloppy.

_**Beth Crawley **_

_**1926**_

_**beloved daughter and sister**_

_**For ever an angel**_

"I didn't think you'd remember her."

"Of course I do! Not clearly. I was expecting two siblings and you and mum only brought one home."

Saddest day of his life, Matthew realised. Nothing was worse than losing your child. But George and Andy, he had not truly lost of them. He hadn't lost hope that they'd come home to him and they had.

"I remember you looking sad for a time." George continued.

"You thought it was your fault, you and your sisters, because you thought you were bad children."

"I did? Can't picture myself ever saying anything like that." George laughed, thinking it, silly. He glanced over to his father. Seeing his dad smile and laugh with him, warmed his heart. It was a sign that the world would go on, that life could go on.

Andy was approaching them, walking down the path.

When he had been old enough they hadn't shielded him from the truth, that he had a twin, and how she had died. At five-year-old, he had help tend his twin sisters' grave. He had wanted him to be comfortable caring for it, and he felt better knowing someone will after he was gone.


	13. Homecoming Part 2

_ He was buried alive. At least that's what it felt like. He was pinned down by something, unable to move, an oppressive weight on his chest. Dirt continuously raining down on his face. _

_They think I'm dead and they're burying me alive! _

_He wanted to scream to shout but found he had no voice. He tried to calm himself, trying to recall the previous events. _

_They'd been under heavy fire. The Germans pushing back. If he called out now, it would reveal his position. As he remembered he could hear distant gunfire in the distance. _

_ He breathed in deeply, inhaling a mouth full of dirt. He coughed and could taste it, a mixture of a metal, blood, and sulfur. _

_ He wasn't being buried alive, he realised. He was lying in a shell hole. The debris being kicked up in the air, raining down. But if he stayed her any longer he would be buried alive, granted it would take hours. Hours, days, this could go on for. He had to move on to the next one. Shell holes were the best cover. Shells didn't land in the same place twice. First he had to get off whatever was pinning him. _

_He finally looked down to see what was on top of him, reaching for it. An arm was laying across his chest. He imagined it to come away and not be attached to anything, that it was a severed arm. He pulled at it but it wouldn't budge. It was attached, to a soldier lying on top of him. He must have been blasted into him, knocking them back into the hole. He rolled the man off him, not checking if he was dead or not. He turned himself onto his stomach, waiting. Instinct told him not to stand up right away. Though it was silent now, another round of attack could come. _

_After the first series of blasts, he climbs out. Hearing, before seeing the cries of dying men around him. Thousands of bodies littered the muddy field, some in pieces. He had to keep moving, he had not time to stop, not time to help those who were still alive. _

_He made his way across No Man's Land, diving in and out of the holes, in between blasts, timing them, with the watch his father had giving him for his thirteenth birthday. _

_ How many times had it saved his life? _

_He stays in one of the holes for a time to catch his breath. The smoke is making it difficult to concentrate, the fumes making him disoriented. He forgot where he was again for a moment. Could the confusion also be due to a knock to the head? He hadn't checked if he had been injured. His head ached and was throbbing. At least that way he could tell he was still alive. He reaches up to touch dried crusted blood or mud at his temple. He couldn't tell which, he had to keep forward. He checks the rest of himself first. He feels something wet on his thigh, that had spread down his trouser leg. Frantically he patted it. No wound. It wasn't blood. _

_ The shock had relieved him of his continence. He was filled with embarrassment. George couldn't find out, no one could. _

_His throat burns from the fumes and thirst. His stomach rumbles. He can't think of the last times he's eaten. _

_ When he can think more clearly, he climbs out of the hole. One man beside him is still alive, gurgling blood. _

_The dark is riddled with explosions, illuminating the riddled ground, broken and burnt trees and bodies. He dives back in the hole thinking, sorry, I can't save you. _

_The rain falls again with body parts and intestines. The man is gone. All that remained was his bag. He took that and dived back pulling it with him. He shuffles through the contents, all that remains, his belongings, proof that he existed. But that didn't matter to him. He needed food. Two tin cans rolled out, clinking together. He took the med kit and the two cans. He wouldn't know what was inside until he opened it. He snapped off the key of one of them and peeled back the tab. Biscuits and a few hard candies. His mouth waters. Better than the Bully Beef, which is what the other tin contained, that tasted like old leather and saw dust. He crammed the food into his mind, even the saw dust, he needs to keep his strength up if he were to get out of here. Immediately he wished he hadn't done so all at once, or at least opted out on the beef. It left his mouth dry. There was no water. Just puddles of mud and corrupted flesh and chemicals._

_He becomes aware of the stench, that he is not the only occupant of this hole. There were two soldiers, that had already expired. One had almost been scalped by shrapnel, the other was holding his insides in his hands. The are the only company he has. _

_He shivers and checks his watch. He winds it up. _

_After an hour of shelling, he climbs his way out. He crawls through the mud using the bodies as cover. _

_He came to a stop at a pair of feet, a few feet away. Just standing in the middle of No Man's Land. Like he was a part of it, that he belong there. He looked familiar somehow. _

_He hides but eyes seem to be watching him. The man finds him, hovering over him. _

_ He was missing a leg, his femur sticking out. And when the soldier turned to look at him half of the flesh of his jaw was missing. Bone and teeth luminescent against flashes of the explosions and the mud covering his face. The nightmarish vision made its way toward him. _

_"No. No. Please. Please."_

Andy was jarred awake to feels arms around him, holding him in a vice like grip. He tried desperately to break free but it was a feeble attempt. He was too tired. He still tried a few more attempts, then he heard his father's voice.

* * *

He dreams of her, rarely of the war.

This time she was out in the garden, hanging the clothes on the line. She uses one of the pins on her hair, then put two of them in her mouth. Sweat glistened off her forehead. He wanted to come up behind her and put his arms around her waist.

_I think of you a lot Mademoiselle. _ He wanted to say.

But before the time he would have to do so, she could reach for the knife hidden in her sock.

When she bring the laundry in, she set it on the chair, then clears off the table. She pulls the pin out of her hair, her blond curls cascading down her shoulders. She takes off her dress.

They sleep in the same bed for the first time that night, not on the palet, like the night previous. And in the morning they make love again. As she lays her head on his arm, he calls his lover by her name for the first time. Whatever time remains for him, whatever time he can borrow, he will make love to her every morning, every evening, God willing, for the rest of his life, in this place, if he never had to go back. How much he loves her. Love is all he had left, in a place full of death, his only protection, can blot out his thoughts, and fears, the terrors of his sleep.

He dresses and walks downstairs, humming to himself. Sunlight streaming through the windows, to start his work out in the fields. And at the end of the day, when he's done, he'll know where he'll be, looking forward to being in his woman's arms again.

George woke with a smile on his face. He blinked his eyes as the sudden light streamed through the curtains.

The calm and peaceful bliss was disrupted by a nightmarish scream. He heard the pattering of feet, thundering down the hall.

By the time he made it his brother's room, his mother was standing outside the door, telling him that everything was under control. "Your father's with him."

* * *

Matthew maneuver himself from his chair onto his son's bed. He pulls him back toward him, cradling him, his head and shoulders resting against his chest. He slide one arm under his shoulder, holding him tight.

It's not flattering. What young man would want to wake up to see their father cradling them? But he needed to calm him.

"Shh. And, it's ok." He soothes but he's struggles against him, still trapped in the nightmare. He feels the beginning of moisture in his eyes but dares not let them fall. He hadn't done this for them when they were children, he had had his own nightmares. Many times Mary had pulled him out of his. But that wasn't what was hurting him so. He'd been too worried, to focused on his older son, when he should have been worrying about his youngest one. How had he not seen? He'd been in constant struggle with his inner battles for several years. He needed to comfort, to be there for his son. "It's ok. I've got you. You just need to calm, breathe. Everything is fine. Just breathe." The tenseness lessons in his son's body but he is still breathing noisily. "That's it. Everything's going to be ok. I'm here. I'm right here."

He relaxes, his breathing normalizing as he listens to his father's voice.

He blinks once, twice, looking up at him. "Dad?"

There's a knock on the door. Andy turned his gaze to his father, a desperate look.

"It's just your mother." He glanced at the door then back down at his son, who nodded.

"Just let me sit up. I'm not a child." Andy openly jokes, taking his father's arms. He still wanted his father to hold him but he wasn't a child anymore.

"Come in." Matthew called, once they were both sitting up, side by side on the bed.

"Everything alright?" Mary asked, softly.

Andy just gave a small nod again. "I want dad to stay a bit."

"Alright."

They were silent till they heard her retreat.

"I dreamed I was back there, crawling through the mud. It felt so real." It all came back to Matthew. He had never really forgotten that feeling._ It never does away. When you think it has._ But he said nothing and continued to listen to his son. "There were thousands of bodies around me, men dying. And I was hungry. The shells kept falling. One man was there and then he wasn't. I took his sack and went through it, like it was nothing."

"You know, my squadron and I were declared missing for several weeks, in 1916." As Matthew relayed the events he found it a bit easier about telling it. "We were starving and thirst. We looted the bodies of the Germans we killed."

"I didn't know that."

He continued, it was like once he started he couldn't stop talking. "We had been missing for six weeks. The rations and water we looted wasn't enough. We collected rain water with their helmets and the horses." They had had to strip the dead and dying horses for meat. Some of it had been infested with flies, and maggots. They had to eat. The flies swarmed as soon as you opened a tin. Many in his squadron had gotten dysentery and died. And somehow he had been unaffected apart from slight fatigue.

"You had to do what you had to, to survive."

Matthew had thought that an excuse, heard it so many times, from so many people. He supposed he believed that now. There was nothing to be changed about it.

Talking with his son he could feel a weight being lifted, a layer was being peeled back. It was a strange thing to be bonding over. Their similar shared experiences. If this brought him closer to his sons, they could understand. Mary or the girls never could, the darkest part of themselves, they chose to hide from everyone else. What they had done, the unspeakable acts they had done, just to survive. Unspeakable for a reason. They could tell no one else unless it with those who had been there, had seen it, had done it. Yet he would never discuss his most darkest, though he knows he's been forgiven by God for that boy he had killed in cold blood. The boy that had been about the age Andy is now. What would his sons think of him then? _They will still love you. _A voice in his head says. _But things would be different._

"We were surviving." Matthew repeated.

Andy looks into his eyes, taking in his father, wondering if he actually believed that. He couldn't read his father's expression.

"When the shells were falling, I used the pocket watch you gave me. To time them. I'd dive in and out of shell holes, between the blasts. It's funny to think..._" Something so simple as that saved my life. _ "It saved my life."

"No. It was your quick thinking."

"The smoke made it hard to think at times. I was confused. I didn't know where I was, if I was hurt. I felt my pants were wet and,...but I wasn't..."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Were you ashamed?"

"For a long time. Not anymore."

* * *

_ June 1946_

It had been five months since George had come home. He was still having trouble with his prosthetic and claimed it chafed him terribly.

Mary took him to get it refitted.

George slouched in his wheelchair as they entered the waiting room. He sat up immediately when the doctor called them in. Mary swooped in behind George and grabbed the handles of his chair just as the boy laid hold of the wheels.

"I can do it, mum." He was trying to be nice, not trying to sound like the annoyed son.

"Of course. Of course you can." She sounds way too perky, even for her. His mother was always cool under pressure, calm when everything around her fell apart, was able to fire back a rapid fire response. He never saw her lose it. Ever.

The doctor led them into a large examine room, holding the door open for them.

"You're mother tells me you've been experiencing some things with your prosthesis."

"He's been complaining of pain..."

"It's not a big deal. It hurts after I practice standing."

"Have you been working on your mobility and exercises as you should?" George shakes his head. "Well, there, I think is the most of your problem.

"The wheelchair's more convenient. With the crutches my hands are all tied up and it's like I have four prosthesis instead of one. And it's hard. Walking, I mean."

"Well, how about we take a look anyway?" He rolled George's pant leg back, but then stopped to look up at Mary, Mrs. Crawley, would you mind if you could step out for a moment?"

"No. It's fine. She can stay."

The doctor unstrapped the prosthetic.

"The area is still a little raw. Are you experiencing any pain, any where else?"

"Not in my...not there. I get this pain sometimes, in the day but mostly at night, before I go to bed. Tingly sensations. Phantom pains, they explained it. They told me I could expect that, once the real pain went away after the operation."

"Phantom pains is the brain's way of trying to create input to the nerves to the limb that is no longer there. Practicing your walking will help with that. I'd like to get a few x-rays to rule out bone spurs or stress fractures. You can wait in the waiting room until the nurse calls you."

George wheels out but Mary turns back, shutting the door behind her.

"I was wondering if you I could talk to you, while waiting for the x-rays." She paused, "Did he seem a bit depressed to you? Would counseling be right for him?"

"Well, what do you think about it?"

"I think he ought to be seeing someone, talking to someone. If you recommended it, I think he would listen."

"I am a physician Mrs Crawley, not a magician. I can't convince my patients to do anything simply because I recommended it, not unless their life was at risk."

_He is at risk_. She wanted to shout. But she didn't want to make a scene.

"What makes you think he would listen to me?"

"You were in the military, I heard one of your nurses."

"I was in the Guards."

"You still have some understanding..."

"And I'm hardly a psychologist."

Mary sucked in her breath. "I don't mean that you should counsel him. You've already gone above beyond as it is. There's still such a stigma and prejudice around mental health. My sister and I were thinking about starting a group for ex-veterans." She could just imagine, how she would try to convince George to talk about it in a room full of strangers, let alone Matthew. "His father was the exact same way." after his war injury. He had wished that he had someone, others to talk to, that had been there.

"I think it's a great thing you're doing. But I don't think you need to look any further. If his father could talk to him about it, I think it would help a great deal. He needs to be encouraged. Or he won't be able to walk at all."

* * *

"Is George doing better or am I just imagining it? He seemed rather cheerful." Carrie said to her mother, they were observing eleven months old Mattie in the day nursery as she sat on the floor, playing blocks. She could hardly believe that her baby would soon be turning one. _In a few short weeks, __my baby will be turning one! _ In her first year of motherhood, she had gone through a roller coaster of emotions, moments of pure joy and moments of isolation. She wasn't far away from her but it seemed that way, with all the attention from the grandparents, especially his grandpapa Matthew. He was no doubt her favorite person right now and probably always will be. From a baby's perpective, she was figuring out who was who and had a prominent fixture in her life, who played what sufficient role. Her sisters had their own lives and had little to no time to spend with their niece, and Andy was always up to who knows what. She hoped that would change once they had children of their own, at least Andy and Kate (Josephine was living in America with her husband and had recently given birth to a son, Noah, in February. Carrie found it so strange that she'd want to apart from George, after not seeing him for over more than a year. They had been so close.) George hadn't showed much fascination with his niece as she thought he ought to have, (he had once always looked forward to the day of becoming an Uncle) but he had had his recovery to focus on and was going through his own isolation.

It had made her think of the three months he had rarely let anyone come up to see him. The last few months, however, he seemed to be in higher spirits, since Olivia's frequent visits. Her mother had the same thing on her mind.

"He is rather cheerful." Mary said with confidence, "Miss Weston does him good. I don't know when she's coming again but I hope it's soon. She's the only one that can get him to walk and unless he keeps trying he won't get any stronger."

"But doesn't it hurt for him to walk?"

"I believe so but he has to practice or he'll never walk at all. I've tried talking to him but he won't listen to me."

"Did Papa have the same problem?"

"For a little while. It took a lot of persuading from me."

"Well there you go. All he needs is a woman. And Perhaps a change in scenery. The seaside, perhaps?"

"But who would have the time to go with him? I doubt he'd agree."

"You said Olivia knows how to persuade him." Caroline raised her eyebrows, looking eager, giving a little nod.

Mary finally caught on to her meaning. "My dear, that would be wildly inappropriate. It wouldn't be proper. The world is changing but not that fast."

"She lives in Hampshire with her father remember? If her father's there, it would be proper enough. George used to talk about how Mr. Weston used to be a scholar before he became a banker and he loves books and so does Olivia. He showed her the library when they first met at Kate's party."

"I didn't know that."

"Sybie chaperoned them." Both mother and daughter smiled. "Anyway, they can discuss that."

"You know darling, I think you may be onto something. You should write to her, see what she says."

"I shall...at once!" Caroline jumped up from the sofa and headed toward the doors.

"And Carrie, darling..." Caroline stopped and turned, "don't try to be too eager. The faster they expect something, that we're trying to put them together, which we aren't, the faster things will work against us."

* * *

George had stayed with Miss Weston and her father for six weeks. Olivia and her father made the trip back to Yorkshire with him.

Not an easy man to get along with at first, until you could see eye to eye with him on a business deal, every discussion had to be treated as such, just as Tom had said. He was much like Robert in that retrospect, the late former Earl of Grantham, bless him.

Olivia had joined in the conversation, on ways to manage Downton's finances and improve their income, by helping the farmers grow more crops. They had had less because of the rationing. But if they could grow more, meant more income for them and the farmers. She was saying all this to Tom.

"What a very good idea, Miss Weston." Tom said.

"Very good." Mr. Weston agreed. He clearly thought his daughter capable as any man. Olivia beamed, already knowing this. "but I think we should hear what Lord Grantham has to say about that."

Matthew smiled and nodded, "Here, here! I couldn't agree more."

"I have some exciting news to share with you." Olivia, who was often soft spoken, spoke up, "or rather, we." She took George's hand under the table and took her time to look at every Crawley member. "George had asked me to marry him. And I said yes."

"We plan on the wedding being sometime next year." George added.

Matthew looked at his future daughter in-law with acceptance and confidence. She would be the one to take care of Downton as well, looking over the finances, in the future. That area was never George's strong suit.

Mr Weston said he could get George a job at his bank with his ties to a charity, that helped injured soldiers train for jobs, much to George's disdain.

The conversation turned to the war, and how it's end would have an effect on the nation now that it was over. Mr. Weston rambled on about knowing a number of retired military men in the House Guards. Carrie stated that her husband Miles was in the House Guards.

"You certainly know how to get around Mr. Weston." Mary said.

"For a banker you mean." Mr. Weston came off as a little rude.

Olivia quickly pointed out that he means well, since his stroke it was hard for him to display any emotion in his face, with the face muscles being palatially paralyzed that were required for such a task.

He didn't like to display emotion in his voice otherwise, a habit of his, and he often came across as a cold and difficult man. "I sometimes forget to throw my range in voice to display to others." He added.

"I am so sorry. I didn't know." Mary apologised.

"I'm partially paralyzed myself." Matthew joked. Then when it went silent, he added with all seriousness, "I can still walk, but on some days it's difficult."

"A price to pay for our service." Weston stated. "I think it's important to have connections in all kinds of circles."

Mary turned her attention to George who she noticed looked a bit uncomfortable. She leaned in and asked him if his leg was bothering, although she knew that wasn't just it.

He denied it at first. Then Olivia leaned over and prompted the same question. He said that it was a bit and that he was tired and thought he should go back to his room. Mary offered but Olivia insisted that she take him.

"I'm so sorry that your son in suffering." Mr. Weston said, politely. "He is a nice young man."

Olivia helped George into bed. But due to her small frame she lost her balance, and she fell over, on top of him.

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be." As she looked up, his hand found the back of her head, a hand around her waist. "Come here."

They started kissing in a heat of passion.

"Are you sure?" She whispered.

"I haven't been more sure of anything in my life." He pulled her onto the bed.

* * *

_April 1948_

He was getting used to his prosthetic, it had become like a part of him. No one ever hardly noticed, not even the slight limp. He was a handsome and charming man.

He had a beautiful and loving wife and a son, the future Earl of Grantham, who was twelve months old. They had named his George Weston Crawley. For now he was 'Little George' or he could decided on Wes, when he gets older. The future of Downton was secure once more. The Crawley grandchildren would gather in the Great Hall, seeing brand new memories, (adoring their grandfather most of all) Sybie's son, Gilly, toddling along to catch up with the other's, two year old Mattie, holding his hand. She had become somewhat of his guardian.

Andy and Katie were the only two Crawley children without any of their own. Andy had married Cindy Jenkin's the summer before and Katie had married Lord Wroughton, her childhood friend, that same summer. She had nursed him back to health after the war, when they heard he had been wounded. And Carrie was expecting her third. It was if it had been planned.

It was rare for all the cousins to be in the house at once, except for Holidays. Jo and Nick came down for a trip to London. He had gotten a job direction the plays there. That would mean the grandparents having to watch over Noah.

Noah was somewhat shy but was encouraged by little George and little Mattie, both like siblings more than cousins with their blond curls, contrasting with Noah's dark ones, to join and play with the others. The parents and Grandparents watched adoringly. A new generation's time had come.

The voices and laughter that filled through the Great Hall and the wall of the ancient Castle, would be filled with life and love for ever.


End file.
